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SKETCHES FROM LIFE 

AND 

JOTTINGS FROM BOOKS. 



W. H. C. NATION, 

H 

AUTHOR OF " TRIFLES," " CYPRESS LEAVES," ETC. 



**■ A chiel's amang you takin' notes,"- Burns. 



f onto : 

T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHEK, 

30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE, 

1864. 

[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.] 






By Transfer 
Dept. of State 

3 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

I. — Waiting for the Train 1 

II.— A Book of Instruction Two Hundred Years Ago . 14 

III. — Bathing a la mode 49 

IV.— Two Feasts 60 

V. — Fairs and Fairing 76 

VI, — A Provincial Pantomime . . . . . . 89 

YII — Arcades Ambo 105 

YIIL— Only a Poor Player 118 

IX.— An Artful Dodger 139 

X. — A very Unfashionable Promenade .... 172 

XL— Do you Object to Smoking? 182 

XII.— At the General Post Office 194 

XIII. — How to be a Gentleman for Sixpence .... 206 

XIV.— Comparing Notes with an Old Traveller . . . 222 

XV.— Flowers that Blush Unseen 238 

XVI. — Gatherings from Grave-stones . . . . . 260 

XVII. — Awake on Christmas Morning 270 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 



WAITING FOE THE TEAIN. 



Perhaps there is only- one thing more disa- 
greeable than being too late for the train, 
and that is, being too soon. Let me put a 
case. I wish, let us say, to start by the early 
morning train for Commerceton. Aware 
that trains share the peculiarity of tides in 
waiting for no man, I duly consulted my 
Bradshaw on the previous night, and having 
solved its mysteries to my intense satisfaction 
I go to rest in the full determination of being 
punctual to a second. I am called nearly an 
hour earlier that I am wont ; I get up, feel- 
ing very sleepy, and perhaps not in that 
state of mental equanimity for which I am 

B 



Z SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

usually distingushed. I wash, shave, and 
dress in what is figuratively termed 'less 
than no time ; ' but in time enough, never- 
theless, to gash my chin and burst three suc- 
cessive buttons off my shirt-collar. I drive 
off in a hansom^ and having paid the fellow- 
three times his fare in order to ensure rapi- 
dity — discover to my infinite dismay that 
either I or my Bradshaw was in error, and 
that I have an hour to wait. 

The world, or rather the station, is before 
me — where to choose ! What am I to do ? 
How am I to pass the dreary time. Spare 
hours of all kinds when they come upon one 
unexpected are intensely hard to occupy. 
There is that dreadful hour which elapses 
at a dinner party between your arrival and 
the commencement of the soup, during which 
everybody looks unutterably wretched, but is 
too well-bred to say so — there is that miser- 
able hour which you are condemned to waste 
while your wife is just "putting on her 
bonnet " for the afternoon's drive ; there is 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 6 

that agonizing hour which you, with a face 
swelled to twice its size, are requested to wait 
until the dentist is ready to receive you. 
You know the old adage, ho tvever ; u what 
can't be cured must be endured," and when 
you have an hour, on your hands the only 
way is to let it slip off your hands in the 
pleasantest manner possible. 

Firstly — then I must get my ticket; 
secondly, I must look after my luggage^ 
Those desirable objects being attained, it 
may be worth while to wile away some mi- 
nutes over the advertisements, with which 
the station is so nicely stored. These adver- 
tisements have always afforded me food for 
the gravest contemplation. I speculate for 
instance on the properties of Mrs. Lazenby's 
fish-sauce, warranted to be genuine only if 
made by her, and I am immediately seized 
with the desire of knowing if the copper-plate 
signature which follows be genuine too. I 
turn from thence to Heal's patent bedsteads, 
from which by a natural inference my eyes 

B 2 



4 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

are directed towards Mr. Harper Twelve- 
trees' never-mind-what destroying pow- 
der. Herrings' magnetic brushes may next 
arrest my attention, and I wonder whether 
that beautiful young lady in the charming 
deshabille who has been so perseveringly 
applying one to her luxuriant curls any time 
these five years has found it answer yet. 
Then there is Thorley's food for cattle — a 
sublime work of art ; to which the attention 
of every one who keeps a horse, pig, or cow 
is respectfully claimed, and in which, in 
order that not only he who runs may read, 
but he who can't read may understand, the 
ingenious device has been adopted of repre- 
senting the animals alluded to, pictorially. 
Close to Thorley's Food I observe Parr's 
life pills — warranted, I think, to cure 
every disease under the sun, speaking gene- 
rally, and indigestion more particularly. 
Professor Holloway's, in the next placard, 
profess to do the same, and Mr. Page Wood- 
cock's promise similar results, until I begin to 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 5 

feel the greatest surprise that the invalid 
world should be so blind to its own interests 
as not to buy up every pill on these esta- 
blishments as quickly as they are manufac- 
tured. 

The word u digestion " recals me to my 
own. It occurs to me that as the journey 
I am about to make is a long one, and the 
chances of getting dinner are somewhat dis- 
tant, it may be as well to make a little pro- 
vision for the future. With this resolve, I 
enter the buffet. It is a handsome well 
furnished apartment enough, the waiters are 
smug and dapper, the waitresses neat and 
tidy ; but somehow or other, one cannot 
help feeling a sense of depression. I never 
in my life saw any man who eu joyed what 
he ate at a buffet. I have seen plenty who 
have execrated what they ate, many more 
whom sheer necessity had driven to devour un- 
complainingly whatever they could lay hold of, 
and a greater number still who have brought 
homecut sandwiches with them in order to 



D SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

avoid that necessity. Not that there is any 
lack of " refreshment v — but like the instruc- 
tion imparted by Cornelia Blimber, the qua- 
lity is far too often submerged in the quantity. 
There are buns in profusion — shining, glisten- 
ing buns — which look tempting enough, but 
which, on closer inspection, you perceive to 
have been polished up to hide their age. 
There are sandwiches, too, dainty and trim — 
painfully trim — but with a stale flavour about 
them which puts you in mind of middle-aged 
belles, the flower of whose youth has long 
since run to seed. And chiefest of all there 
are the a pork-pies! " a name which, as you 
know, does duty at our stations, for masses of 
a whitish grease reposing in a circle of clay- 
coloured paste. Of what ingredients this 
dainty may be composed, it may be as well 
not to inquire, but we may, without going far 
wrong, adopt poor Frank Fowler's suggestion, 
that " the pigs that feed the pork are usually 
fed on the stale pies, so that it is impossible 
to tell through how many generations the 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 7 

contents of a pasty may indirectly have 
passed." 

Having refreshed my inner man with as 
many of the sandwiches as are eatable, and 
taking a smile from the syren who presides, 
as compensation for the rest, I bethink me 
that my mind may also feel the need of sus- 
tenance, and I sally forth in search of the 
book-stall. Surely here is mental pabulum 
enough! Here is something to suit every 
palate ! Newspapers — of every opinion — 
theologic or political. Times for you, sir, if 
you be a Ministerialist ; Standard, if you sup- 
port the Opposition ; Star, if you think with 
Mr. Bright ; Telegraph, if it is your wish to be 
" independent/' Novels, too— tales, sketches, 
gorgeous in their bright red, green, or yellow 
bindings ; of every conceivable size and of 
every conceivable colour. The blood-curdling 
romances of an Ainsworth ; the side-splitting 
yarns of a Marryat ; the metaphysical mys- 
teries of a Bulwer ; the soul-thrilling adven- 
tures of a Grant ; the hair-stand-on-end sen- 



8 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

sations of you, oh, Miss Braddon, with your 
bewitching, . fascinating, little murderesses, 
who hold our bachelor hearts in a sweet 
captivity through two volumes of their lives 
only to make us ashamed of finding ourselves 
" accessories before the fact," in the third. 
Que voulez vous ? You like something 
quieter, simpler? I do. I am positively 
afraid to read those terrible stories in the 
train. 1 am carried away by the excite- 
ment. My brain gets confused. I fancy all 
sorts of horrors — that the boiler will burst — 
that the engine will run off the line — that we 
shall meet the down express ! There, there I 
hear it coming now, quicker, quicker yet — how 
my pulse beats! Now I see its glaring lights 
— now I hear its awful shriek — and now — 
there is a crash, a scream — and I find myself 
lying a mangled heap upon the rails ! ! With 
a view to something less trying to the nerves, 
I look over the books upon the counter. 
What is this ? " After Office Hours" clever 
sketches which I have read before in a All 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 9 

the Year Bound. " Trifles ; " I think I have 
read this book before, also. Despairing of 
finding what I want, I address myself to the 
proprietor. 

" What can you recommend as nice light 
reading ?" 

"Nice light reading, sir, yes, sir. Eead 
Lady Audley, sir — capital tale ? It contains 
a fire, a murder, and a bigamy ! " 

I shudder palpably, and rejoin — " No, no ; 
I don't want anything of that kind just at 
present. I want something new that is quiet 
and amusing." 

44 Yes, sir, certainly. Now here's Lyell, 
4 On the antiquity of Man J quite new." 

I growl forth a joke about that being old 
enough at any rate, and look out for myself. 
I discover that my friend has an unlucky 
knack of mistaking the tastes of his customers, 
for soon after an elderly gentleman, of an un- 
mistakeably clerical cut, comes up and asks 
for the Guardian. 

u Guardian, sir," returns my friend, " not 

b 5 



10 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



got one left, sir ; but Here's this week's Punch 
if you like." Whereupon the clerical gentle- 
man evaporates, in disgust. 

Meanwhile the platform has been rapidly 
filling. Having purchased a book after my 
own heart, I deposit it carefully in my pocket 
and proceed to look about me. w The various 
expressions of the human countenance," says 
Charles Dickens, " afford a beautiful and 
interesting study," and perhaps there is 
nowhere where the expressions are more 
various or more worthy of observation than 
m a crowd at a railway station. Let me 
note a few as they pass : — 

See that grim-visaged old prude — you can 
tell she is a prude—by all that is hard and 
angular, and out of joint. How she is pes- 
tering that unlucky porter — and what about? 
One would think the crown at least was in 
danger to hear her talk. Heaven bless the 
woman ! it is only to ensure herself and her 
maid (a little half-starved creature, who is 
staggering under the weight of a bonnet-box) 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 11 

a compartment to themselves, as she does 
not like travelling in the society of gentlemen ! 
May her request be complied with, and 
happy the men who travel as far out of her 
reach as they possibly can ! 

Yonder is a poor widow with her little boy 
whom she has seen the last of ere he returns 
to school. Poor little fellow ! he is crying 
bitterly ! 

How tenderly she bends over him as if to 
reassure him with her loving words. And 
he tries to bear up for her sake ; he has only 
lately lost his father, and, young as he is, he 
knows he must do all he can to fill the void in 
his mother's heart. He will not add to her suf- 
ferings, and yet it is hard, very hard, to check 
the rising tear. For school is a dreary place 
for the young, at the ' best — it is not the 
Paradise that their coldblooded seniors would 
have them believe. Near them is a young 
spark, got up in the height of fashion, who 
looks down upon the scene just depicted 
with profound contempt. He seems to have a 



12 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

good opinion of himself, however, which 
must be extremely gratifying to his feelings, 
since no one else has. Not far off is a hunts- 
man, sprucely equipped in tops and in scarlet, 
who is wrapt in earnest conversation with 
another of his kin. The twain look very 
knowing indeed, and ever and anon throw out 
mysterious hints about " cover,' ' the meaning 
whereof I have altogether failed to dis-cover, 
since, as Dickens observes, " following my 
own inclinations, I have never followed the 
hounds. " 

There are many other varieties of character 
to be found, which will afford interest. And 
in this I speak generally — I make no dis- 
tinctions of persons — I include all alike — 
first classes, second classes, third classes, for 
in the matter of welcoming or bidding fare- 
well, such distinctions are forgotten, and then 
alone is it that we feel the truth of the great 
poet's words : 

"One touch of Nature makes the whole world kin.'' 

Thus, there are sisters "seeing their brotheis 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 13 

off" for college ; soldiers and sailors taking 
leave of their " own Mary Anns," whose 
honest faces speak plainer than words, that 
they will never be unfaithful to their troth ; 
barristers — law in their eyes, law in their bags 
going on circuit ; jolly agriculturists on their 
way to the Beefleigh Cattle Show ; gover- 
nesses going for the first time into a situation, 
and timidly doubtful of the happiness or 
misery, poor souls, that awaits them ; testy 
old gentlemen who are always intending to 
write bo the Times about the negligence of 
the directors, and who never carry out their 
intentions, and many others too numerous to 
mention. For lo ! even as I write, the great 
bell sounds — the way is cleared — trucksfull 
of luggage are hurried about — u by your 
leave" is shouted, and French leave is taken, 
everybody stumbles up against everybody 
else, and with a mighty roar the train comes 
thundering into the station. 



14 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 



A BOOK OF INSTRUCTION— TWO 
HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 



We do not boast half enough of our 
intellectual progress. We are well aware of 
the advances which we have made, but it is 
only when comparing the present with the 
past that we begin to feel duly and properly 
grateful for them. In days like these, days of 
competitive examinations, and middle-class 
training schools, and Baliol scholarships — 
days when mighty tomes are being written 
for the exposition of mighty subjects, great 
books for the exposition of small subjects, 
and small books for the exposition of every 
subject — days when the schoolmaster is 
abroad, and at home, and everywhere else 
with a ubiquity which is alarming — days 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 15 

when we are geologized for a shilling, and 
astronomized " in a nutshell/ 7 astrologized by 
Zadkiel for sixpence a year, and theologized 
by Mr. Spurgeon at a penny a week,")" we can 
hardly realize the state of the literary wilder- 
ness in which our forefathers were condemned 
to wander. We can hardly realize the fact 
of a book having been published some two 
hundred years ago, which embraces almost 
every conceivable branch of education, and 
professes to afford the fullest information on 
each and all respectively. Yet such a book 
I have before me now, and have considered 
not altogether unworthy a place in my 
" Jottings." The book is but small-— con- 
sisting in all of four hundred pages, duo- 
decimo ; but the title, as will be seen, is com- 
prehensive enough — a A Help to Discourse ; 
or, More Merriment mixt with serious 
matters; consisting of witty Philosophicall, 
Grammatical!, Physicall, Astronomicall 



* Zadkiel's Almanac ; annual, 6d. G-. Berger, Holywell Street, 
f The Penny Pulpit ; by the Rev. C. Spurgeon ; weekly. 



16 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Questions and Answers, as also, Epigrams, 
Epitaphs, Eiddles, Jests, Poesies, Love-Toyes, 
&c, re-added, and plentifully dispersed. 
Together with the Countryman's Counsellor, 
and his yearly Oracle and Prognostication, 
with additions; or, a Help to Preserve his 
Health ; never before printed." The author 
of the book is anonymous, but the printer, 
in an excess of modesty, which is not quite 
so prevalent just now, has consented to appear 
by initials only, thus, u London : Printed by 
E.T., for Andrew Crooke, at the Signe of the 
Green Dragon, in Paul's Churchyard." The 
date of its publication is 1654 ; and although 
modern readers may have been hitherto 
unaware of its existence, the fact of its 
having " fourteenth edition" on its title-page, 
affords ample proof of its having enjoyed a 
considerable popularity in its day. 

Theology, taking the term in its widest 
sense, forms the staple of the first portion of 
the " Help to Discourse." Two things will 
be observed at the outset, first, that instruc- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 17 

tion is imparted a la Mangnall, by way of 
question and answer, and second, that the 
questions are as enigmatical as the answers 
are quaint. Thus, we are asked, " Whether 
did the cross bear Christ, or Christ bear the 
cross ?" and we are answered, " It doth both, 
and both at once, and in bearing him, it bore 
all our iniquities, of which thus further : 

Between two thieves the Just condemned to dye 
Did hang, where all like punishment did try, 
Though for a cause unlike they both death try'd, 
For sinnes i'th World, he for the World's sinnes d'yd. 

Of which one wittily adds that if ever 
goodnesse was in the midst of evill — then it 
was." 

Again, u What wicked man was that, that 
for a most vile price sold to others what he 
had not in his power, and yet what was more 
precious than all the world ?'' 

Answer : " Judas, that sold Christ." 
And, " A certain godly man from a wicked 
required a gift that was far more excellent 
than all the world, and yet he gave it, and 
what was that ?" 



18 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Ans. "Joseph of Arimathea, when he 
begged of Pilate Christ's body." 

Here are some more of a similar 
character : — 

" Who were those that once lived on the 
earth and never dyed?" 

Ans. " Henoch (sic) and Elias." 

" Who was he that died and was never 
born?" 

Ans. "Adam." 

"Who was he that was but once born, 
and dyed twice ?" 

Ans. " Lazarus." 

" Who was he that spoke after death ?" 

Ans. "Abraham to the rich glutton." 

"Who was he that prophesied before he was 
born?" 

Ans. " John the Baptist, in the wombe of 
his mother." 

" What issue was that which was elder 
than his mother?" 

Ans. " Christ, to which purpose the poet 
wittily folio weth it — 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 19 

" Behold, the Father is the Daughter's Sonne, 
The bird that built the nest is hatched therein : 
The old of time, an houre hath not out-run, 
Eternal life to live doth now begin." 

These are very clever : — 

"Whether were the heathen gods or heathen 
men more ancient ?" 

Ans. "Certainely the men that made the 
gods." 

"In what place was it that the voyce of 
one creature pierced all the ears in the 
world r 

Ans. "In Noa's Arke." 

The two following witticisms are worthy 
of a Spurgeon : — 

" Who are those that cannot, will not, may 
not doe, nor rightly understand ?" 

1. " There are certain that neither under- 
stand God nor can understand Him, and those 
are dead men. 2. There are others that may 
understand, but care not, and they are 
wicked men. 3. There are another sort that 
desire to understand^ but cannot, and these 
are fools. 4. There are a fourth sort that do 



20 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

both understand and make use, and these are 
godly." 

And " "Who is the best Arithmetician of all 
others?" 

Ans. u God, for he made all things in 
number, weight, and measure ; likewise he 
numbers the stars, our teares, the haires of 
our heads, our dayes, our bones." 

Part the second is devoted to " certain 
mixt Philosophicall Questions, more various, 
and of greater liberty." Of great liberty are 
they indeed, the philosophy including much 
that is altogether beneath the notice of a 
Dugald Stewart or a Whewell. I am sorry 
to find that my author's philosophy (such as 
it is) does not lead him to think over well of 
the other sex. In answer to a question — a 
question, by the way, which has puzzled phy- 
siologists from the Creation until now — 

u How is it that there be many more 
women in the world than men ?" 

We are informed that, " Some think be- 
cause women are exempted from the warres, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 21 

from the seas, imprisonments (things must 
have altered since then), and many other 
troubles and dangers of the land, to be a reason 
sufficient. So others likewise there are that 
think this may be the reason, because in the 
whole course of Nature the worst things are 
ever most plentiful." 

Again, we are informed " That of all waters, 
the most deceitful are of the tears of a 
woman;" that " of all creatures the most 
wanton are insatiate women." 

We are reminded that Sir Thomas More 
(who deserved decapitation for that, if for 
nothing else), was wont to say, that "the 
choosing of wives was fitly compared unto 
the plucking eeles out of a bag, wherein for 
every eele are twenty snakes ;" and, that con- 
cerning u imperious women," the terrible The- 
mistocles thus observed to his own wife : — 

" wife, the Athenians rule the Grecians, 
I the Athenians, thou me, thy sonne thee ; 
therefore in my opinion he spake not amisse 



22 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

who said lie never knew Commonwealth, nor 
private family well governed, where the hen 
crew, and the cock held his peace *, for though 
it be said of women that they are so able of 
tongue, that three of their clappers will make 
a reasonable noyse for a market ; yet, though 
they talk, they should not command, or at 
least, should not govern." 

At the tongue of a woman — that univer- 
sal mark for the arrows of the wit from 
Shakespeare down to the creator of the 
caudles — our author lets fly this little dart : 
44 When a man dyes, which is the last part of 
him that stirs, and which of a woman?" 

Ans : 44 The last part of a man that stirs 
is his heart, but of a woman her tongue." 

Further on, Cato is quoted as having re- 
pented himself of three things only, the first 
of which was, 44 that he ever believed a 
woman." 

At page 96 we are asked, " What is Death 
very fitly resembled unto ?" to which is the 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 23 

reply, " To a woman ; for seek her, and she 
flyes you ; fly her, and she seeks you." 
According to the poet : — 

Follow a shadow it still flyes you ; 
Seem to fly it will pursue you. 
So court a woman she denies you ; 
Let her alone, she will court you. 

Our modern satirist, Thackeray, in an 
amusing article on u Child's Parties," simi- 
larly observes — u The women, by rights, 
ought to court the men, and they would if we 
but left them alone." In another place a 
woman is compared to a ship because these 
are " two things that cannot be too much 
trimmed;" and again, M a ship, is turned and 
guided by the stern, a little piece of wood, so 
must the wife in this be like, being willing to 
be guided by the direction of the husband ; 
and as it fails not but by deliberation, sound- 
ing, and compasse, so must not she walke bat 
by discretion and judgment. But herein 
she must be unlike, for as one ship may be- 
long to many merchants, and many mer- 
chants may be owners of one ship, so must 



24 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

not the wife. She must be property but to 
one, and lastly, a ship may be painted, but a 
woman should not/' 

There, dear ladies, what do you say to that 
application of the lash ? Have you had 
enough, or a la Oliver Twist, do you ask 
for more ? 

Our author is not less severe on Popes and 
Papists. Here are two bitter pills for his 
Holiness to swallow. 

a Who is the greatest opposer of truth?" 

Ans. u The Pope, who, as Baleus recites, is 
so opposite, that commonly whatsoever he 
praises is worthy of dispraise ; for whatsoever 
he thinkes is vain ; whatsoever he speakes is 
false; whatsoever he dislikes is good; what- 
soever he approves is evill ; and whatsoever 
he extols is infamous." 

" What seats are ordained for Popes after 

this life r 

Ans, u Heaven they continually sell, and 
daily offer for sale ; and, therefore, Hell is 
their place in reversion." 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 25 

The author, it will be observed, is some- 
what censorious, but we must remember the 
temper of the times in which he lived. It 
was in the year of grace, 1654, and but five 
years since the execution of a certain king, 
whose lady's openly avowed Eoman Catholic 
tendencies had been the cause of the greatest 
alarm. The following is pleasanter, because 
kindlier in tone ; and, moreover, the shaft is 
aimed at other game as well. 

" Who are the most merry, most free, most 
mad, and most blessed in the world?" 

u The most merry are Popish priests that 
sing when others weep, both before they dye, 
and after they are dead. The most free are 
physicians, that are licensed to kill without 
punishment, so that what is death to others 
is gain to them. The most mad are nice gram- 
marians, that fight about vowels, and for air 
and sound. The fourth are the poor that are 
blessed ; though with Agar I pray to give me 
neither poverty nor riches, but contented- 

c 



26 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

nesse," to which, however, he slily appends 
Ovid's lines — ■ 

Non tamen hoec tanti est, pauper ut esse velim — 
Though blessings be for them in store 
To be their heir Td not be poor 1 1 1 

There are three properties which our author 
considers necessary to a good chirurgeon — 
" A hawke's eye, a lion's heart, and a lady's 
hand." 

Do they think the same at "Bartholomew's," 
I wonder ? 

And it is in these three forms that he ap- 
pears to his patient ; " in the forme of a skillful 
man, when he promiseth helpe; in the shape 
of an angel when he performes it ; in the 
forme of a devill when he asketh his reward " 
— a compliment which the Faculty will, 
doubtless, appreciate. Here is a special bit of 
"philosophy" which is worth quoting, as af- 
fording a solution of what has long been a 
vexata quoestio in the science of ethics. 

" Is Faith to be kept with an enemy? " 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 27 

Ans. " It is ; for we are not so much, to 
consider to whom as by whom we have 
sworn, and therefore he is found much faith - 
fuller than thou which believing thee, hav- 
ing sworne by the name of God, hath been 
deceived, than thou, that by that means hast 
deceived him." 

The rest of his moral philosophy may be 
summed up in the following, " Wherefore is 
the World round ?" " Because that it, and 
all therein, should not fill the heart of man, 
being a triangle receptable for the holy 
trinity." 

And " what may the world most fitly be 
compared unto ?" u To a deceitful nut, which, 
if it be opened with the knife of Truth, 
nothing is found in it but vacuity and vanity," 
which latter sentiment may have been origi- 
nal at the time at which it was written, but, 
if so, it has been sadly plagiarized since. 
Touching the Mysteries of Life and Death 
we are asked, " How is death proved to be 
nothing to us ?" 

c 2 



28 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Ans. " Thus — when death is— we are not; 
and, when we are — then death is not ; and, 
therefore, death is nothing to us," which is 
logical, if not convincing. 

And, again, " How is our death proved to 
be something almost depending upon 
nothing?" 

Ans. " Thus — the years that are past, are 
gone, and those we have not ; the future we 
are not certain of, and therefore boast not of ; 
the time present is but a moment — and that 
is the brittle, thread it depends upon. And, 
therefore, to this I adde with a Father— 
Happy is he, that in this, his short minute, 
lays hold upon Christ's mercies, and even 
whilst it is called to-day, and he may be 
found that bore all our infirmities upon his 
Crosse." A curious rhyme follows : 

" ]STo fruitfull field am I, no blessed wheat, 
But cursed Cockle (sic.) to weed out or eat, 
Yet though I am thus cast out, lost and sold 
To Sin, yet Lord, reduce me to that fold." 

The term u cursed cockle " is, I think, as 
novel as it is expressive. The ensuing question 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 29 

and answer are worthy of note. u Where- 
fore have all the Jews a ranke smell or 
savour? Some think because they are of 
a bad digestion. Some think the wrath of 
God upon them the immediate cause; howso- 
ever they have been a people strangely dis- 
persed over the earth, slaughtered and tor- 
mented in all countries. — France, Spain, 
Portugal, Germany, and England. In King 
John's time they were fined at 1,000 marks 
a man, upon penalty of not payment to lose 
their teeth. An old Jew of Bristol had six 
of his teeth pulled out because he refused to 
pay the fine. Many thousands of them were 
slaughtered in divers kingdoms, upon a ru- 
mour being spread that they had poisoned 
all the wells in those countries ; and when- 
ever they live at this day among christians, 
they live in subjection and slavery to them 
they most hate." It is worthy of note that 
even so early as 1654, the intolerance against 
Judaism had shown signs of decrease, and 
that a writer could be found bold enough to 



30 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

speak of them as a persecuted and " tormen- 
ted " race, albeit " of a rank smell or savour." 
What would he have said had he foreseen 
that two hundred years later they would be 
admitted as representatives into the British 
House of Parliament ? Our author was not 
particularly partial to the a chase, 7 ' if we may 
judge from the following : " What kind of 
men are they which, being as beasts, them- 
selves sit upon beasts, carry beasts on their 
hands, have beasts running about them, and 
all to pursue and kill beasts ? " Ans : " un- 
lettered huntsmen." 

What would our author have said to Mr. 
Kingsley's panegerics on that " noble sport ?" 
A clergyman, too ! Surely he would have 
been sent to the same limbo as the Pope — 
recorded above. One or two more original 
remarks which defy classification are worth 
mentioning. We are asked, conundrum-wise, 
wherefore have we two ears and but one 
tongue, to which there is this terse and 
pithy answer : u That we should hear twice 



SKETCHES FEOM LTFE. 31 

as much as we speak." It would be a good 
thing sometimes, if not only u little boys," 
but " great men and women," were " seen 
and not heard." But I am sorry to say that 
two centuries have not improved us as much 
in this respect as our author might have 
wished. Next I would quote the solution of 
a problem over which I have sorely puzzled. 
" How comes it that the husband seeks the 
wife, and not the contrary, the wife the 
husband?" 

Ans. : " Because the man seeks that which 
he formerly lost ; that is, his rib, which was 
taken from him in the forming of the woman 
out of his side, and therefore, when a man 
marries a wife, what doth he but fetch back 
the rib which he first lost?" There is some- 
thing, to my mind, too tender and touching 
in the following idea to warrant its omission. 
a What waters of all others ascend highest? " 

Ans. : u The teares of the faithfull, which 
God gathers into his bottle." 

After this u philosophy mixt " come u cer- 



32 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

taine grammaticall questions." These would 
seem to be of " greater liberty " than even 
the " philosophy mixt," since, after a few 
preliminary observations on the construction 
of sentences, they tear off at a canter to the 
lives of Hermogenes and Archimede and 
thence to a chronicle of the kings of England. 
It will be sufficient to quote a few of the 
more special. 

The following, to begin w T ith, may be 
considered " a sell." The question is put: 
11 Wherefore have grammarians formed three 
genders in art, seeing there are but two in 
nature ; or why doth not nature bring forth 
things of the neuter gender, as well as of the 
masculine and the feminine ? " and it is an- 
swered: u Let him tell the cause of that who 
can ; or if he cannot, let him seek another 
Palemon that can unty this knot, for (please 
to observe the elegance of the expression) 
my heifer shall not plow this." The other 
questions are classical to a degree, though 
whether the answers would pass one for a 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 33 

degree is another matter. " What is the 
difference between os, oris, for the mouth, 
and os, ossis, for a bone?" 

Ans. u Whatsoever is gotton by os, ossis, 
the bone, is devoured of os, oris, the mouth." 

Question the second. " Why is honos, for 
honour, written with h, an aspiration; and 
onus, for a burden, without?" 

Ans. u Because to the one all men aspire, 
the other few men doe desire." 

Hereupon ensueth " a Discourse of wonders 
Domesticall and Forraigne," among which we 
are regaled with the chronicles of such won- 
ders as these : — 

"An. Dom. 1571, at Knivaston, in Here- 
ford, the ground sunke, and an hill with a 
rock of stones at the foot of it lifted itselfe 
up with a great noyse, and ascended to a 
higher place, leaving a deep pit behind it ; 
carrying with it trees growing, sheep-coats, 
and flockes of sheep, of the trees, some say, 
covered with earth, others growing fast in 
the hill as it went stood upright. Thus, 

c 5 



34 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

having walked from Saturday evening till 
Munday noone it rested." The above is inter- 
esting from the fact of our having recently 
(September, 1863) been startled by the shock 
of an earthquake. At the Isle of Sheppey, 
the cat of Dick Whittington seems to have 
been in request, for we read of a u multitude 
of mice that could not be driven away till a 
flight of owles came and devoured them." 

Another 4t domesticall " wonder was an in- 
dustrious flea, which "drew a chaine of 
twenty -four links with lock and key," and a 
still greater marvel was the remarkably thick- 
skinned sleeper " that slept in the Tower 
three days and three nights, and could not be 
wakened during that space by any noyse or 
violence, by pricking with needles, or other- 
wise." 

This "forraigne wonder" may, for its gro- 
tesque improbability, claim a place by the 
side of any other pseudo " miracle" you may 
like to name : — 

" A poore begger woman laden with chil- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 35 

dren came to the door of a certain Dutch, 
countesse, and craved an almes, which the 
Countess not only denyed, but called her foul 
names, telling her withall it was impossible 
she should have so many by one man ; which 
this begger hearing besought God who knew 
her innocent to manifest it unto her by giving 
her so many at one birth by her husband as 
there are days in the year, which fell out 
accordingly ! ! ! " 

There is one more which is almost as 
racy. u In what part of the world is it that 
trees breed living creatures? " 

Ans. : u In the lies of orchades in Scotland, 
wherein growes a tree neare the sea-side that 
bears fruit like unto a fowl, which dropping 
downe into the water becomes a living crea- 
ture like a ducke." 

Our author, however, constantly shows 
himself to be in advance of his age — and 
here he adds, with just a tinge of scepti- 
cism, " But this reported rather by history 
than by the people of that country." 



36 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

The next portion of our book embraces a 
couple of stories u contentive to read, and 
necessary to be known/' and containing 
respectively the histories of Saint George 
and Saint Christopher. Concerning Saint 
George it is recorded how that he, passing 
through Lybia, discovered that the princess 
of that country was about to be offered up as 
a sacrifice to a terrible dragon. This insa- 
tiate Moloch, it appears, had been in the 
habit of preying first upon the Lybian sheep, 
then upon the Lybian men, then upon the Ly- 
bian children, and now, as a last resource, had 
come for the daughter of the Lybian King. 
Perceiving matters in this predicament, or, as 
our author has it, " espying this forlorn wight," 
Saint George valiantly resolved to fight the 
dragon. This he accordingly did, and after 
a severe encounter " wounded him sore," and 
leads him conquered and captive in triumph 
to the city, where the inhabitants, with a 
bravery which did them credit, proceeded to 
slaughter him. The same saint, we are in- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 37 

formed, helped the Christians, by means of a 
" spectral illusion," in which " a white arm " 
and " a red cross " played a conspicuous part, 
to take the city of Jerusalem. Concerning 
Saint Chrysostom, it is recorded how that 
he, being in search of the greatest prince in 
the world, was one day entreated by a child 
to carry him across a river. He complied, 
but ere he had crossed halfway the child 
grew so heavy, and the water swelled so 
high, that he was in danger of drowning. 
However, he got over in safety, and then the 
Saint says to the child : — " Thou, childe, 
weighest almost as heavy as if I had carried 
all the world upon my back." 

Quoth the childe : — " Thou hast borne all the 
world upon thy back and HIM that created 
it. And to make sure thereof set thy staff in 
the ground, and to-morrow it shall bud and 
bring forth fruit/' The next day it did bud 
and bring forth fruit, and the result, we are 
told, was his own conversion and the conver- 
sion of thousands. It is a queer old legend, 



38 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

and though we may disbelieve it, there is a 
quaint beauty in it which is very attractive. 

A collection of epigrams and epitaphs come 
next in order, of the former of which the 
following may be taken as specimens : 

I. 

Health is a jewel true, which when we buy 
Physicians value it accordingly. 

II. 

A beggar ask'd a penny once and swore 
Give him but that, and he would ne'er ask more ; 
With that I op'd and what he ask'd I gave, 
But deeply vow'd he never more should have : 
Not long from thence he ask*d again, and wept 
So that I gave, yet both our Oaths were kept. 

And of the latter 

ON THE DEATH OF THE ELDEST SON OF ONE MASTER HUTCHING. 

Here lies one in the flowre of youth 

Once his friends' joy now his parent's ruth : 

If Kitching be his name, as I have found, 

Then death now keeps his kitching under ground, 

And hungry worms that late of flesh did eat 

Devour their kitching in the stead of meat. 

This was his lot, and, Reader, this must be, 

Ere long thy mine, and the end of me. 

Kiddles too find favour with our author, of 
which I will extract a few of the best. Here 
is a pretty trifle for the ladies : 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 39 

Sweet Lady, such a boon I crave 
As being gone again you have : 
Nay, if you surfeit my request 
Your gift returns with interest : 
'Tis not so wanton as may show 
A Venus blush, a Cupid's bow ; 
Such as your beauties sympathize 
When Cupid's quiver is in your eyes : 

That blisse which answers my desire 

May parallel Diana's fire : 

'Tis such as in a moment's stay 

Is given and is gone away : 

Yet if you grant, you grant a bliss ; 

Sweet Lady, tell me what it is ? 

And the " sweet lady " of course has the 
answer on the tip of her— lips. Here are 
two more in rhyme : 

There is a body without a heart 
That hath a tongue and yet no head, 
Buried it was ere it was made, 
And loud doth speak and yet is dead. 

Eesolution: A bell which when cast is 
founded in the ground. 

One evening as cold as cold might be 
With frost and hail and pinching weather 
Companions about three times three 
Lay close all in a pound together : 
Yet one after other they took a heat 
And dyed that night all in a sweat. 

Eesolution : A pound of candles. 



40 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Among those in prose we have: "First 
my mother brought me forth, when shortly 
after I the daughter bring forth my mother 
again ? " the resolution whereof is " Ice — ■ 
which is first made of water, afterwards melts 
and brings forth water again ;" and ct What is 
that which produceth tears without sorrow, 
takes his journey to heaven, but dyes by the 
way, is begot by another, yet that other is not 
begot without it," the resolution whereof 
is " smoke." The following u catches " I 
think exceedingly good. " What one man 
was that, that slew at once the fourth part of 
the world ? " 

Ans. u Cain ; that slew his brother when 
there were but four persons in the world." 

u What is that that stands still on one foot 
and on the other walks round ?" 

Ans. " A pair of compasses." In the 
matter of jests I grieve to say that our author 
is somewhat indecent. But then I plead in 
extenuation the times in which he lived. If 
this is to be deemed a valid excuse for the 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 41 

coarseness which occasionally defames the 
manifold beauties of the immortal Shakspeare 
— surely it will be considered sufficient for 
the author of " the Help to Discourse." It 
is unfortunate in this case certainly, as some 
of the smartest jokes are also the filthiest. 
Two pearls from the dung-heap may, 
however, safely be extracted. u A cardinall 
on a time, for his exceeding pomp and pride, 
was rebuked by the French king and told 
that it was not their manner of old to be so. 
So, quoth the caidinall, in times past king's 
were shepheards, and keepers of cattell." 

u A foolish scholar, hearing a crow would 
live a hundred yeares, went and bought one 
to try the conclusion." 

" A fellow poor and improvident compelled 
to take up his lodging on the ground, where 
tumbling and tossing all night long on his 
hard couch he could not sleep ; in the morn- 
ing rising up he cast down his eye on the 
place where he lay, and espyed a feather: 
Oh, quoth he, now I see the cause of my 



42 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

trouble that all this night I could not rest : I 
wonder, if one feather can trouble me so 
much, how do they do that lye upon thou- 
sands ? " This last may call to our re- 
collection the story (I think I quote it aright) 
of the wife who was chosen from among a 
number of others, because she alone was sen- 
sitive enough to have her night's rest de- 
stroyed by a pea which had been placed 
under the mattress on which she lay. 

After this digression to lighter matters our 
author becomes fearfully learned, and dis- 
courseth knowingly about Epacts and Equi- 
noctials, Rainbows and Planets, but as the 
spread of science has tolerably popularized 
the knowledge of those interesting matters I 
will not record his opinions here. Then he 
gets superstitious again, and points out cer- 
tain days of a man's life which are to be con- 
sidered "dangerous," or — here follows a word 
of the gravest import — u clymactericall (! ! !) " 
He has however the advantage of our modern 
soothsayer in one respect ; he volunteers 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 43 

reasons, odd enough though they be, for the 
avoidance of his u clymacfericall" days. 
Thus we are to beware of the u first Monday 
in April," because " on that day Cain was 
born and his brother Abel slain," the "second 
Monday in August," because " on that day 
Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed," and 
the " 31st of December," because on that 
day Judas was born that betrayed Christ. 
Whether he is correct in his facts or not I 
will not stop to inquire. 

In like manner he is an interpreter of 
dreams. To dream of eagles' flying over our 
heads, of marriages, or of dancing, and ban- 
queting foretels that " some of our Kinsfolk 
are departed." Who shall decide when the 
oracles disagree ? According to a dream- 
book which was written by the lamented 
u Mother Shipton," to dream of " marriage," 
portendeth " sickness," of " dancing," " wea- 
riness and langour ;" of a banqueting," 
u that we shall be disappointed !" In another f 

* Mother Shipton' a Dream-book; A. Park, Leonard St., Finsbury. 
f Published by S. & J. Keys, Devonport. 



44 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

dream-book, " Dancing" denoteth " Joyful 
news from an absent friend, and unexpected 
good fortune," which, to be sure, to an ex- 
pectant heir, might be regarded as one and 
the same thing with the loss of his kinsfolk ! 
To dream of u gold, is good fortune," of 
" silver,' ; according to our author, " if thou 
hast given it to thyself, is sorrow/' though, 
according to Mother Sliipton, it is " success 
in trade, and every other undertaking !" To 
dream of " losing an axal- tooth, or an eye," 
is a u friend's death ;" but, according to Mother 
Ship ton, " to dream our teeth fall out is 
good," though it must be owned that my 
other dream-book coincides with our author 
in both particulars. To dream of u bloody 
teeth, is the dreamer's own death ;" of 
u seeing one's face in the water," or of 
u seeing the dead — long life," though as to 
the latter, a third * dream-book maintains 
that it meaneth, " ill-usage from friends," 
while both of the others hold to its signifying 

* Raphael's Dream-book. Fairburn, Featherstone St., City Rd. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 45 

" a wedding !" To dream of " birds, is a 
sign of ill-luck," with which Mother Shipton 
appears to agree, though Eaphael considers 
them as signs of " Joy, success in business ;" 
and, "if we are married, advantage to our 
family ;" though, to be sure, " wounds from 
birds of prey are powerful enemies." To 
dream of " handling lead," or of "seeing a 
hare, is death," though Mother Shipton doesn't 
go so far as that, believing " lead" merely to 
imply " sickness," and " hares, pain ;" 
whereas, if we should happen to be sports- 
men, and "shoot" them, the omen is entirely 
reversed, and we are to expect the enjoyment 
of "long life!" 

Arithmetical matters next engage our 
author's attention, and we are treated to a 
number of Tables of Usury, Laws of Ex- 
change, "fit to be regarded by all those that 
out of a wary disposition intend to thrive." 
An Essay in Rhyme, and an Essay in Prose, 
are also given upon the rules of Purchase 



46 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

and Sales, which might have been useful in 
their day, but are utterly valueless now, from 
the fact of an unkind Legislature having 
entirely altered their nature and properties. 

Our author next turns doctor, and writes 
out a few prescriptions " for the better pre- 
servation of our health." These, it must be 
owned, are not remarkable for novelty, and 
indeed are such as we might be thought to 
have known before. Thus, we are to live in 
a healthy climate, to eat meats that are easy 
of digestion, such as capons, chicken, or mut- 
ton, not to eat too much or of too many 
different dishes, to drink wine in moderation, 
to take exercise in the open air, not to go to 
bed too late, not to lie on our backs in sleep, 
to rise early — with other guinea's worths of 
advice given free, gratis, and for nothing. 

After this there follow a few more of the 
" quips and cranks," none of which merit 
special quotation, though among them I am 
rejoiced to find that our author, cold-blooded 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 47 

misogynist as he is, has so far recovered him- 
self as to dole out this meagre tribute to the 
darlings of our hearths and homes — 

" Question : Three things should be always 
at home, and what are they ?" 

Ans. " The Hen-roost, a Cat, and a 
Beautiful Wife." 

And then the book is brought to a con- 
clusion with " certaine briefe observations on 
Secrets in Nature and Art not impertinent to 
our former subject/' a few of which I hope 
it will not be thought impertinent in me to 
extract. It appears to be a " Secret in Nature" 
that " a fowle hung up in a fig-tree becometh 
marvellous tender, though otherwise harsh 
and tough before ; and that likewise a Bull, 
or other wild beast, tyed thereunto, becometh 
tame ;" it is also a " Secret in Nature," 
that "if a man be the first that a woman 
meets with, after she, being newly churched, 
comes out of the churchdoore, it signifies that 
the next child will be a boy ; it a woman, 
that it will be a girle ; but this," says our 



48 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

ever sceptical instructor, u we rather take to 
be opinion than probability ;" it is likewise 
a " Secret in Nature" that " though it is a 
maxime that what is once dead cannot be 
recovered, yet a Fly, that worthless creature, 
being drowned and dead, will be recovered 
again by laying her in warm ashes," all of 
which, I am inclined to think, are " secrets " 
the revelation of which would be of the most 
material service to mankind, were it not 
utterly preposterous to suppose that they are 
founded upon fact. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 49 



BATHING A LA MODE. 



You crossed over, last evening, you say, 
and had a wretched passage which was but 
partially redeemed by a good night's rest in 
one of the nattiest little bedrooms of the 
Hotel des Bains ; and now having interchanged 
Anglo-Gallic grimaces with the garcons 
and made mute love to the grisettes, and 
finally, having digested a petit dejeuner, con- 
sisting of omelette aux fines heroes, melon, 
soles f rites, fricandeau, cotelette a la jardiniere, 
volaille roti, pommes de terre a le maitre d hotel, 
peches, pain et beurre, and cafe au lait, you 
want to know what to do with yourself until 
dinner time. It is too long a walk to the 
Cathedral, it is too hot to scale the heights 

D 



50 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

of Caligula's Tower, the reminiscences of the 
past evening are too vividly impressed upon 
your memory to admit of your tempting the 
elements in a cruise. Come with me, theu, 
make me thy cicerone and I will show thee 
a sight. Come, having first purchased a 
" Punch " of Mr. Merridew as a symbol of 
your nationality, and a cigar of the pretty 
girl on the quay as a mark of your condes- 
cension, and hie to the beach, where with 
our lazy limbs out-stretched upon the sand 
we will watch and take note of the bathing 
at Boulogne. As we leave the pier we pass 
a sturdy old mendicant who sits grinding 
upon an organ a series of tunes which would 
as certainly send to an untimely end a whole 
cattle-show of cows as they would drive mad 
a square full of Babbages. Attached to the 
top of this diabolical instrument is a tin tube 
shaped like a coffee-strainer and so construc- 
ted that the pence which may be dropped 
into it can only be taken out from a drawer 
behind. He must make a profitable trade 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 51 

of it, I should think, for judging by the ful- 
ness of the strainer hardly a person passes 
who does not contribute a sou to the exche- 
quer of the pauvre aveugle. 

We are in excellent time. Performances 
have not yet begun. There is no one in the 
water as yet, though the machines are most 
of them drawn out, and the sturdy hacks re- 
lieved of their burdens are being ridden lei- 
surely back from the sea. The sea itself is 
very beautiful. There is hardly a wave to 
be seen upon its placid bosom. Smooth and 
glassy as a lake, it glitters and sparkles in 
the noonday sun, and ripples musically to 
and fro, and breaks in gentle murmurs on 
the shore. 

There is a motley crowd upon the beach. 
Young men, ruddy faced and light whiskered, 
equipped in peg-top trouser and pork-pie hat, 
afford a fair representation of the u strangers." 
Young men, sallow-faced and moustachioed, 
and wearing straw hats of a colossal size, 
make a good show as the u natives." While 

d 2 



52 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

in the case of the ladies, of whom there is no 
lack, gallantry forbids us to make compari- 
sons or to draw distinctions. 

Strolling by us are a band of bonnie bare- 
legged fish-wives, their scarlet hoods setting 
off their pretty brown cheeks and sparkling 
eyes to the greatest advantage. And yet 
they are little conscious of it. Hard work 
and coarse fare, and a life inured to labour, 
leave them little time for coquetry, poor 
things. Here are a knot of shabbily dressed 
individuals, whose thread-bare appearance 
unmistakeably betokens the object of their 
visit to Boulogne, and who ever and anon 
cast wistful glances at the white cliffs which 
they have left behind, and which frown at 
them, like angry creditors, across the sea. 

Everywhere are groups of children, some 
floating tiny boats in the puddles, some 
making ducks and drakes — ornithological 
curiosities whose genus would have sadly 
puzzled Cuvier ; others digging with their 
spades or raising towers and forts of sand, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 53 

and little heeding that in a moment the re- 
morseless wave will come and level them to 
the ground. " The child is father to the 
man," and whenever I look upon children at 
these futile labours I cannot help thinking of 
all the mighty works on which man wastes 
his strength and hopes and fortunes — all how 
soon to be obliterated in the great sea of 
time. 

" Holloa ! I say ; missus, voolay voo ? " 
shouts a fussy old Englishman — utterly obli- 
vious to the fact of his being at u Bolong " as 
he calls it, and not at Rainsgate. " Where 
is a machine — here ! " But Mr. Jones does 
not comprehend. 

Though he is an estimable stockbroker ; a 
great authority on 'Change; has the reputa- 
tion of being a knowing card and up in the 
mysteries of the Three per Cents. ; Mr Jones 
himself undoubtedly is " at a discount" on 
this side of the Channel. 

Everything is systematic here — en regie- 
merit ': " They manage these things better in 



54 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

France." Each bather has a number given 
hirn at the establishment which we passed, 
and he must wait in patience till his number 
is announced. The duty of announcing these 
numbers devolves upon a very old woman, 
who looks considerably over ninety, upon 
whose constitution salt water and iodine have 
had a most beneficial effect. The old lady 
will holloa lustily enough when Jones, other- 
wise " Numero Vingt-uris" turn arrives ; but 
until then, being rather deaf as well as unac- 
quainted with the English language, she will 
pay him not the slightest attention. 

Lo ! at this moment the door of a machine 
is swung back, and splash — splash; two 
lively girls plunge headlong into the water. 
Both are got up in the most recherche of 
costumes, the one in a blue the other in a red 
serge dress, cut short at the knees and having 
drawers to match. There is a pretty belt for 
the waist, and the whole is profusely adorned 
with ribbons and streamers. Sweet little 
ducks ! How merry they are ! How tho- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 55 

roughly they enjoy themselves ! And above 
all, how well they know the secret of a really 
enjoyable bath. For be it known that they 
are masters, or rather mistresses, of an accom- 
plishment unknown, unlearnt by the majority 
of our own countrywomen. They can swim. 
Not for them the miserable jack-in-the-box 
movement which seems to constitute the sole 
delight of our English fair, when with the 
sea up to their knees, and clinging tight to 
the rope of the machine, they take their 
morning dip at Seacliff. 

No — the French lasses strike boldly out, 
hands well together, arms slightly bent, head 
well up, and altogether perform a succession 
of aquatic feats which would ensure them a 
ready "pass" from the swimming-masters at 
Eton. From another machine issues a 
grissly old Frenchman. He, like the young 
ladies is habited en costume, which, in his 
case, consists simply of a very well-fitting 
striped jacket and trousers. Splash ! in he 
goes head foremost, and turning up again the 



56 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

next moment exhibits his dripping beard, and 
grinning teeth, the very picture of self-com- 
placency. " C 'est delicieux, parole dhonneur" 
shouts the old fellow, addressing some com- 
rade in the machine. And the invisible 
gentleman seems disposed to test the truth of 
his assertion, for a moment has hardly elapsed 
before he splashes in after him. 

Out of the next machine step a young 
couple newly married — she somewhat 
coyly at first, but gaining courage as she 
looks up at the kind, earnest eyes that are 
bent on hers and speak such tender love. 
Out of another comes an elderly lady with 
her pet dog — one of that horrid woolly-headed 
bare-backed breed yclept French poodle — 
whom she has brought down for a dip. 

The creature regards the water dubiously, 
and utters a piteous whine as the first wave 
breaks over him; but his mistress, the void in 
whose spinster heart Fido evidently fills, ad- 
dresses him encouragingly, and tells him it is 
for his good, all of which, of course, the ani- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 57 

mal thoroughly understands and appreciates. 
From another issues a middle-aged mother 
with her pet, a child, who proves even more 
refractory than the dog, and dismal are 
the howlings with which he regales the 
maternal ears while he is undergoing the 
miseries of a ducking. From two others 
there burst at the same moment a genuine 
English party. 

From the one, paterfamilias, son, and 
nephew; from the other, materfamilias, 
daughters twain, and niece. And as pleasing 
a group are they as artist could desire. 
There is old pater — old in years, as his 
wrinkled brow and silvered hair most surely 
attest, but young in the buoyancy, the elasti- 
city, the honest heartiness of youth. Eadiant 
and smiling is mater in her sprucely-decked 
garments, which, she thinks, become her 
admirably, and judging by the admiring gaze 
of old pater, perhaps she is not far in the 
wrong. Sisters twain are buxom likewise 
and up to all sorts of mischief, as that good- 

D 5 



58 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

humoured fellow of a cousin can tell you who 
is enduring a terrible splashing at their hands. 
Niece is lissom, golden-haired, and has a fresh 
English colour upon her cheek not yet ruined 
by that foreign sun which, golden and glorious 
though it be, plays the very devil with a fair 
complexion. Pater's son regards her tenderly, 
and it may be nurses a secret attachment. 
There is a little flirtation going on between 
them already. Well, and why not ? For all 
I know to the contrary proposals may be 
made, and hands and hearts may be offered — • 
and troth may be plighted — en costume des 
bains — in the water. As fitting a place surely 
as a public promenade or a ball-room, where 
offers have been made and are made daily. 
As fitting — more fit, for it is less noticeable, 
and the roar of the sea is an effectual security 
from eavesdroppers. But lo ! as we speak 
they have formed themselves into a ring, each 
linking his hand to that of the other. And 
so, splashing, and laughing, and flirting, they 
take their fill of merriment, and dance round 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 59 

an imaginary mulberry tree to their heart's 
content. 

They manage these things better in France. 
Laurence Sterne's maxim has been oft quoted 
and applied to a great many institutions of 
the sister country. Can it be applied to the 
system of bathing which is practised at Bou- 
logne ? Or, on the other hand, do you think 
that that system is an outrage to every sense 
of decency ? Everyone has a right to his 
own opinion — I am inclined to think not. I 
am inclined to think that it is not half as in- 
decent as that system which permits ladies to 
appear in public with nothing on but a loose 
gown of oilskin which the lightest gust of 
wind may disarrange, and permits members 
of the other sex to exhibit themselves within 
a distance of fifty yards literally and entirely 
in a state of nature. 



60 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



TWO FEASTS. 



I am one of a large party assembled to wit- 
ness a fashionable wedding. There, by the 
altar rails, stands the bride, pale and pensive, 
but very happy — 

Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
But she may learn ; happier in this 
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
Happiest of all in that her gentle spirit 
Commits itself to his to be directed, 
As from her lord, her governor, her king. 

There, on the other side, stands the bride- 
groom — proud and confident in the love that 
is reposed upon him. Behind him stand the 
groomsmen trim and jaunty in their fawn- 
coloured waistcoats and wedding favours, and 
gazing sweetly across upon the bridesmaids ; 
behind her stand the bridesmaids, gaily 
equipped in laces and satins, and taking note, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 61 

I suspect, of how they are to act when their 
turn comes. u It is still customary," says the 
learned Mr. Brand, " in most parts of 
England, for the young men present at the 
marriage ceremony to salute the bride one by 
one the moment it is concluded." 

We dispense with that ceremony on this 
occasion, but there is another which we 
studiously observe. 

As we come out of church we are met by a 
band of school-children, who strew flowers in 
the path of the bride. It is a pretty old 
custom that, I think, of strewing flowers in a 
young bride's path. 

Glide by the banks of virgins then and passe 
The showers of roses, lucky foure-leaved grasse ; 

by which it will be seen that the custom was 
known to old Herrick. On our return from 
church we were shown into a room wherein 
are displayed the wedding presents. " In 
old times," I again quote from Mr. Brand, " it 
was the custom for all the friends invited to 
the breakfast to bring or send some contribu- 



62 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 

tion, from a cow or a calf down to a half crown 
or a shilling. " I do not notice any cows or 
calves among the gifts, nor even half-crowns 
and shillings, but there is a great deal of what 
is choice, rich, and costly. We stare at the 
presents for some time, and remark that this is 
very handsome, and that very beautiful, and 
that nothing in the world is more exquisite 
than the other, until we are well nigh tired 
out. At length our cuisinier — Mr. Cookbest- 
son, who for to-day at least is invested with 
an almost despotic authority — sends word to 
say that the breakfast is ready. Whereupon 
we pair off, two and two, like the animals in 
Noah's ark, and make for the breakfast room. 
Truly here is a sumptuous repast ! Here is 
enough to satiate a Lucullus — here is enough 
for appetites the most dainty — palates the 
most Epicurean. Game and poultry, hams 
and tongues, beef and veal (by way of com- 
pensation for the absence of the living animals) 
cooked, dressed, and done up into every con- 
ceivable form and every conceivable shape. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 63 

And in the middle — towering aloft on its 
classic pillars, frosted over like the summit of 
a Pyrenean mountain, stands the mighty cake 
itself. Well, we get through the breakfast, 
we eat and drink and talk — 

"We laugh and quaff, and drink cold sherry — " 

And drain bumpers in sparkling champagne, 
and we are all very gay, and very merry, and 
very talkative. At length there is a general 
bush. The speeches are about to begin. 
Somebody, whose part in our little play has 
been that of the " heavy father," rises to pro- 
pose the health of the bride and bridegroom. 
He begins by observing (if my memory serve 
me right), that no young couple could have 
been better suited to each other than this 
young couple ; that on the one side there is 
faithfulness and love — on the other there is 
tenderness and affection ; and that, all things 
considered, there is every prospect of their 
leading a happy life together. 

But in my humble opinion that part of his 



64 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

speech was the best in which he admonished 
them not to hope for, not to wish for — per- 
petual happiness. 

We must all have our sorrows (he said) ; 
we must all have our cares, our bitter griefs, 
our hours of agony. But ought we to wish 
it otherwise ? Is it not out of our greatest 
sorrows that our greatest joys are born ? 

" Is it not the sweetest rose that's washed 
in morning dew ? Is not love loveliest when 
embalmed in tears?" 

Oh ! sacred sorrow, he who knows not thee, 
Knows not the best emotions of the heart — 
Those tender tears that humanize the soul, 
The sigh that charms, the pangs that give delight. 

I know all this has been said before ; bu f , 
can it be said too often ? God forbid ! Never, 
while there is one tear left to wipe away ! 
Never, while there is one poor aching heart 
to comfort and console ! 

The toast being enthusiastically drunk, 
Mr. Bridegroom stands forth from behind the 
cake, and u would like to say a few words in 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 65 

return for the kind manner in which the com- 
pany have drunk his health." 

Mr. Bridegroom's part is undoubtedly that 
of the u leading tragedian.' ' He might be 
likened unto Hamlet, but that that gentleman 
was invariably addicted to melancholy — and 
this I am sure cannot be said of Mr. Bride- 
groom. He might better be compared 
unto u Othello " in the earlier stage of his 
wedded life, and before that miscreant Iago 
had poisoned his mind, and made him, 

Like the base Judean, throw away a pearl, 
Richer than all his tribe. 

God defend you, my friend, from such caitiff 
slanderers — there are far too many of them 
in the world. 

Be she as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, 
She shall not escape calumny. 

God fnield your honest heart against their 
viperous lies. 

Meanwhile I am forgetting Mr. Bride- 
groom's speech. It is neat, effective, and to 
the purpose. He speaks kindly and honour- 



66 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

ably of his bride — modestly and becomingly 
of himself, and he earnestly trusts that they 
may both live to show themselves worthy of 
the kind wishes that have been expressed for 
their welfare. In conclusion he would pro- 
pose the health of those twelve young ladies 
who have so kindly given up so much of 
their valuable time in order to be present 
upon this occasion, and to act in the capacity 
of bridesmaids. Whereupon up gets Mr. 
Bridegroom's brother — " the first comic man" 
I will call him — and humourously observes, 
that to distribute oneself into twelve portions 
is a task which, under any circumstances, is, 
to say the least of it, difficult, but that when 
those portions are ladies, the task becomes 
almost superhuman. He further expresses 
the hope that all the young ladies whom he 
has the honour to represent, will follow the 
example which has been set them as speedily 
as possible, (whereupon all the young ladies 
titter) ; he had used the word a hope " — he 
would beg leave to correct himself, and say 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 67 

that lie is certain that they will (whereupon 
all the young ladies blush, but don't look at 
all inclined to deny the assertion notwith- 
standing). 

Several other toasts are then proposed and 
acknowledged by other members of the com- 
pany, the " walking/' or rather " talking gen- 
tlemen," let us say, and then the happy pair 
prepare for their departure. As they take 
leave a cry is raised for an old shoe, which is 
to be thrown at their carriage u for good luck." 
In olden times it was a stocking, in fact, the 
bride's stocking, which was thrown, and the 
great art seems to have been u to hit the 
bridegroom on the nose." Mais nous avons 
change tout cela. We are grown so uncom- 
monly proper now, that we prefer " a shoe." 
The last part of the ceremony, however, we 
carry cfut to the letter, and all I hope is that 
the shoe isn't a hard one. 

On the following evening I was present at 
another feast — a feast given in honour of the 
marriage to some three hundred poor school- 



68 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

children. Not so grand a feast this by any 
manner of means. There are no raised pies, 
or spicy meats, or dainty jellies ; but there is 
cake, not so rich perhaps as the cake of the 
previous day. There is no frosted sugar upon 
it, or almond paste. The plums it must be 
admitted are but few and far between, and I 
don't perceive any citron. But it is pure and 
white enough, and is doubtless very much 
more wholesome. Champagne too there is 
not, but there is tea, brewed with a due re- 
gard to nervous temperaments, to be had in 
abundance. Our company are not very ele- 
gantly dressed ; they haven't followed cut the 
precepts of Le Follet, they don't patronize 
tulle flounces, or Honiton lace, or wreaths of 
orange blossom. These young ladies, too, 
they don't look so well as the other young 
ladies. Their figures are not so graceful, 
but then they have no " dress " to " set them 
off;" their complexions are not so delicate, but 
then they can't afford Eowland's Kalydor, 
and (don't deny it, my dears) Kalydor 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 69 

and crinoline are very great aids to Madam. 
Venus after all. But then, on the other 
hand, they are ruddy and hearty, and enjoy 
the blessing of health, and, ah, my poorer 
brethren, if you have that blessing, you have 
that for which many a rich man would sell 
his birthright. 

Watch them now, ranged in rows down the 
long deal tables. Each child has a mug and 
a hunk of cake, or those that haven't are 
clamorously demanding them, They manage 
to do without knifes or plates, and as to spoons 
and saucers they are regarded as quite super- 
fluous. How they eat ! how they drink ! 
Hunk after hunk of the cake, mug after mug 
of the tea disappear before their capacious 
appetites. It amuses me much to watch the 
efforts of a little usher to keep them within 
bounds. 

'■ You musn't have any more — youVe had 
twelve pieces already," cries she to one, and 
to an unconscionable little swiller, " Oh, you 
bad boy ! that's your twenty-first cup of tea !" 



70 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

Doubtless the little usher is right and fore- 
sees the consequences of a too great gorging. 
And yet I cannot help wishing that on this 
occasion at least they may be allowed to stuff 
and stuff until they give in of themselves out 
of sheer exhaustion. After tea the school- 
mistress regales them with a speech, the first 
and only one of the evening, and it is to the 
effect that if anyone misbehaves himself he 
will be summarily ejected there and then. 
To conclude, she says, " You know you can 
behave yourselves if you like, so of course 
you'll do so." 

The conclusion strikes me as somewhat 
illogical, but it has its effect, for I don't Jiear 
of one case of misbehaviour throughout the 
evening. Unfortunately it is ascertained at 
the last moment, that a magic lantern which 
has been engaged is out of repair, and it is 
agreed therefore to supply its place by a round 
game. This, owing to the number that are 
present, is found rather difficult of accomplish- 
ment, and the only thing is to divide them 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 71 

into batches, and to provide each batch with 
a separate game. Thus in one corner of the 
room some fifty are set to " Earth, air, and 
water." 

" Now," explains a young lady who offi- 
ciates as their instructress, u I shall throw this 
handkerchief at one of you, and as I throw it 
I shall say - Earth, air, or water V If I say 
1 Earth/ you must mention the name of some 
animal ; if I say, ' Air/ of some bird ; if I say 
' Water/ of some fish, and in each case before 
I have time to count ten. If you answer 
wrong you must pay a forfeit ; if right I must 
continue throwing it to you till you fail. 
Now jthen — ' Earth ! ' cries the young lady, 
flinging her cambric at random. 

u One, two, three, four, five, six, seven — " 

" Goat !" shrieks the boy on whom it falls. 

u Air," cries the young lady, singling out a 
blue-eyed little girl in the corner. 

" Sparrer," squeaks the little one in reply. 

" Water," however, proves a clincher, every 
one vociferating u Fish" indiscriminately, 



72 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

instead of specifying the genus piscine that 
they mean. 

In another part of the room, " Oranges and 
lemons, or the bells of St. Clements," an ex- 
cellent game, though an abominable rhyme, 
comes in for a large share of patronage. In 
another, a game is being played which I 
never in my life saw played anywhere else. 
It consists in a ring being formed, in the midst 
of which stands boy or girl alternately. Those 
who compose the ring then move sloAvly 
round, singing certain verses, at the conclu- 
sion of which they stop. And then it is the 
privilege of the one in the ring to kiss the 
lady (or gentleman, as the case may be) who 
happens to be his vis a vis. Which is highly 
immoral, dear Miss Prude, isn't it ? And what 
makes it infinitely worse is that our parish 
clergyman is here to sanction it ! 

After this there is a dance or two, a con- 
certina, together with " the voice," serving as 
the orchestra. When they are thoroughly 
tired with these exertions it is proposed that 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 73 

they shall bring the evening to a close with 
some songs. 

Accordingly all take their seats, the girls 
in front, the boys behind — to present as near 
a resemblance to the Monday populars as 
possible. Some of the songs are very sweet 
and touching — others might be omitted — one 
in particular is remarkable for possessing two 
lines only. Thus — 

" Merrily, merrily, scythe the corn, 
Cheerily, cheerily, greet the morn ; 
Merrily, merrily, scythe the corn. 
Cheerily, cheerily, greet the,' morn." 

And so on ad infinitum. I have often laughed 
over an absurd doggerel which runs — 

" Joe MiiD-gins invited his uncle to dine. 

OO 

Chorus — And his uncle invited Joe Muggins to dine. 

Joe Muggins invited his uncle to dine. 
Chorus — And his uncle invited Joe Muslins to dine." 



oo 



Which you are at liberty to repeat till you are 
tired. But this is hardly more ludicrous 
than the other. 

Altogether the comic element is the most 
popular, and every now and then, when op- 



74 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

portunity serves, some wags in the back- 
ground come out with — 

" I'm a man of nerve, I do declare;" 

Or 

"I'm off to Charlestown, 
Early in the morning;" 

in a manner that is spirited and enlivening. 
These eccentric ditties, however, do not find 
favour with the authorities, and after the boys 
have successively demanded whether they 
haven't got a nerve, and failing in getting an 
answer have sent their love to all the pretty 
yellow girls ; the school-mistress rises and 
puts a veto upon anything being sung but 
what is strictly sentimental. 

Another song — of a different order — is ac- 
cordingly sung — and then another — and then 
the Evening Hymn. Ere they go, however, 
the clergyman stands forth and asks for three 
cheers for the givers of the feast, the bride 
and bridegroom ! Hip-hip-hip ! leads the 
clergyman — Hurr-a-a-ay ! ! ! And then three 
hundred little voices send up such ringing 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 75 

cheers — such honest, hearty cheers, as find an 
echo in the hearts of all, and in none 
more than those in whose honour they are 
given. 

And gratifying to their feelings as must 
have been the kind words spoken at yester- 
day's feast, and treasured up in their memo- 
ries as they must always be, I cannot but 
think that the cheers of these poor children 
will come home to them, just as much and 
just as surely, and will be had in their re- 
membrance even to the end. 



e 2 



76 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



FAIRS AND FAIBING. 



Thackeray has an amusing anecdote some- 
where of a precocious young gentleman, who 
sat next him at dinner, and who professed his 
repugnance to the tart. Quoth he to his 
neighbour, "with rather a fatuous air," — "I 
never eat sweets." — " Not eat sweets, and do 
you know why ?" says Mr. Thackeray. — " Be- 
cause I am past that kind of thing," says the 
young gentleman. — "Becauseyou are a glutton 
and a sot," was the stinging retort. Where- 
upon a plate of raspberries and cream disap- 
peared before the philosopher. With due 
deference to so high an authority, I must 
frankly and candidly avow that I also do not 
care for sweets. " Sweets to the sweet " they 
say, and perhaps it is that there is a little of 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 77 

the amari aliquid in my nature ; but, be that 
as it may, I do not care for sweets. By 
u sweets," I do not mean necessarily any- 
thing that is sweet — such, for instance, as the 
fruits of the earth, pare and simple ; but I 
do mean those suspicious-looking and highly 
objectionable compounds which are ordinarily 
to be had at a confectioner's, but which ap- 
pear in the greatest quantity and under the 
most repulsive forms at a country fair. 

There are some generous girls of my ac- 
quaintance, who are profuse in. their offers — 
I mean, of course, of those deleterious com- 
pounds. They entreat me to partake of their 
a fairing/' and bring me a little paper packet 
containing, let us say, a whity red cube, 
known as Albert Eock, a mysterious almond 
which, chameleon-like, changes its colour at 
every suck, and a few indigestible comfits. 
u Thank you, my dears, I would really 
much rather not. It is very kind of you 
■ — and I feel it very hard to refuse, but the 
truth is — I don't like sweets." They look 



78 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

disappointed, and suggest "a little tony.'' 
Now if there is one specimen of the genus 
" sweets " which I positively abhor and 
abominate above all others it is " toffy !" I 
admit to having eaten some once, which a fair 
lady had been at some trouble to make, and I 
remember, though gallantry forbade me to 
say so at the time, that I didn't recover the 
effects for a week ! Oh ! the odious black 
mess, with its greasy, slimy coils, sticking to 
your hands, plugging up your teeth, or 
slobbering clown the sides of your mouth. 
Ugh ! I would as lief let Mrs. Squeers dose 
me with the brimstone- and-treacle dainty of 
Dotheboy's Hall. 

My distaste for fairing, however, does not 
extend to fairs themselves. I have been a 
great frequenter of fairs in my time, and 
I have derived from them no small enjoyment. 
Fairs at rejoicings, fairs at regattas, fairs at 
Windsor (yes, Dr. Goodfcrd, I don't mind 
confessing to the "soft impeachment" now), 
fairs at Easter, fairs at Michaelmas, fairs at 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 79 

any available time, in every available spot, 
anrl at every available festival, has it been my 
lot to witness. Ex uno disce omnes — let us 
take one as a sample of the rest, and like the 
dramatists entirely renouncing all ideas of 
time and space let us transport ourselves into 
the very heart and centre of an Easter-fair. 
Immediately before us you will perceive stalls 
whereon comestibles of every conceivable 
nastiness are going — going — going dirt cheap 
■ — and they couldn't go like anything more 
appropriate. 

A little further on are to be sold penny 
trumpets, half-penny rattles and whistles, 
which are recommended by the vendor as 
"hadmirible himitations of a bird.'' You 
buy the whistle, and discover that the birds 
imitated are of the " rarce aves in terns " 
species mentioned in the syntax of your Latin 
Grammar. 

At other stalls are procurable crackers, 
squibs, and hangups, or combustible pellets 
which explode upon everything they touch, 



80 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

with other toys of a similarly interesting 
and intellectual nature. Others there be to 
which targets are affixed, and at which, on 
payment of a penny, you have the especial 
privilege of shooting for two pennorth of 
nuts — a game which has this one draw- 
back only — that you invariably lose both 
your penny and your nuts. 

Then there are song-vendors, who jell 
forth : u Here you air, here you air — five 
and twenty songs for a'apny — sentimental, 
comical, or sensational — Far away where 
Angels dwell — In the Strand, in the Strand — 
Let me kiss him for his Mother — Old Aunt 
Sally — So early in the morning — Sweet love 
arise, and Kiss me quick — Who shall be 
fairest — Rosalie, the Prairee Flower, or the 
Perfect Cure — De big white moon am shining, 
love — and, Hoop de-dooden-do ! Only a 
penny for a'arf a'undred !" 

Then there are whir] i-go-rounds, wherein, if 
you have never been to sea, you may experience 
in five minutes all the sensations incidental 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 81 

to a voyage — there are nigger melodists, who 
" wish they were with Nancy," in voices so 
abominably cracked and with such a ma- 
niacal accompaniment of bones and banjo as 
to induce one to wish they were, devoutly. 
There are fortune-tellers, who for a trifling bit 
of silver will predict for you a million a year, 
and then there are sharpers, who will wheedle 
you out of the greatest part of it long before 
the prediction is fulfilled. 

Then there is a pony (who must be own 
cousin to the learned pig) who possesses an 
intuitive insight into the peculiarities of any- 
one whom his master may name and who 
accordingly singles out married men as " the 
gentlemen in love" and small boys as "those 
who are about to become fathers," in a 
manner which is diverting to behold. 

Here is a booth — with the Union Jack fly- 
ing above it, and with the word " Eoyal 
Waxwork" emblazoned on red calico in 
front. 

"Walk in, ladies and gentlemen, walk 

e 5 



82 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

in," roars the proprietor, ct only one penny ! 
the celebrated and original wax-work as 
patronized by the Queen, the Prince Consort, 
and all the Eoyal Family, down to little 
Prince Arthur, whom God preserve ! here 
you will see wax-figures — modelled the size 
of life ; enacting scenes from the page of 
history — you will see them in every attitude 
and in appropriate costume — you will like- 
wise see that by a mechanical effect which 
was interdoosed especially for me by a 
learned Perfessor, whose modesty compels 
him to be nameless, these figures will actu- 
ally breathe — breathe, [ say, just as if they 
were living — breathe, I repeat, more nater- 
ally than if they were living ! ! ! " 

The force of fancy can no further go, and 
with a command to his orchestra to "strike 
up " he re-enters the tent in order to exhibit 
the Perfessor's Mechanical Effects to those 
already assembled. 

u This/' says our friend, as he uncovers case 
the first and reveals the figure of a bilious- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 83 

looking man seated between two animals 
who are remarkable for being singularly un- 
like lions — " this, ladies and gentlemen, is a 
representation of Daniel in the Lion's Den. 
Please to observe the fearless attitude with 
which he regards his ferocious foes. Hark 
to the terrible roar with which they greet 
him." He touches a wire at the side, and a 
dismal sound issuing from the stomachs of 
the lions is the result. 

u Now watch the spring which they 
make upon their intended victim/' and with 
another touch of the wire the animals make a 
sort of rocking-horse movement in the direc- 
tion of Daniel. The Perfessor's Mechanical 
Effects having been exhibited with similar 
success in Tableaus Two and Three bring 
the first part of the entertainment to a close. 

u Only one penny more," says the pro- 
prietor, "to see the Chamber of Horrors." The 
Chamber of Horrors has a sounding title, and 
there is no one present who is not willing to 
pay his admission fee over again in order to 



84 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

see it. " That," says our friend, pointing to 
the figure of a jolly well whiskered man — " is 
the immortal Rush; that" to another in black, 
who looks quite the gentleman ; " the no less 
undying Manning. Them," pointing to the 
former's inexpressibles u is the trousers in 
which he was hung — observe the pattern ! ! 
They were bought of the executioner at a 
price which you'd hardly believe, if I was to 
tell you." This last assertion being proba- 
bly true he leaves us in our happy ignorance. 
Mrs. Manning, the wife of the " undying " 
one — is represented in a rich veil of Honiton 
lace, likewise Mr. Courvoisier in a plum 
coloured waistcoat, and Mr. William Palmer 
in his Sunday best, together with other meri- 
torious individuals whose fame a certain part 
of posterity seem never inclined to let die. 

Opposite the Royal Wax-works stand the 
" Theatre," a faithful copy of the ever me- 
morable Richardson. The performances here 
are sensational to a degree, and the plots 
and counter-plots are so numerous, and in 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 85 

fact become at the denouement so inexplica- 
bly intermixed the one with the other, that 
it would be impossible to follow them. 

There is, I believe, a blood-thirsty baron 
in highlows who is for ever quarrelling with 
a virtuous peasant in knee-breeches. The 
cause of the dispute is a beauteous maiden in 
chintz, whom the virtuous peasant loves to 
distraction, and whom the blood-thirsty baron 
doesn't love but wants to jnarry. The 
Wood-thirsty baron is triumphant for a time 
(extending eight minutes perhaps out of the 
twelve which the play lasts), but is van- 
quished in the end. 

This happy result is attained by means of 
a Ghost — the ghost of his former bride ; who 
having an unaccountable habit of bobbing 
up whenever she is wanted, succeeds in frus- 
trating a variety of murders, including that 
of the virtuous peasant which the baron is 
on the point of committing ; and so the cur- 
tain falls upon the Discomfiture of the Baron 



86 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

and the Wedded Happiness of the Peasant 
and the Maiden ! 

The next booth affords an entertainment 
of a more general character. " First and 
foremost we have to present to your 
notice the Northumberland Giant and the 
Cumberland Dwarf — two of the most 
remarkable phenomena ever seen ! ! 
Heighteen years of age," says the keeper, 
alluding to the Giant (who, it should be 
observed, is a tall slim man a little over six 
feet and whose hair is gray.) " Honly heigh- 
teen ! The dwarf, Miss Clara De Courcy, 
was five-and-forty last July as ever wos ! " The 
lady certainly doesn't look half that age ; but 
it seems that, unlike ladies of an ordinary 
stature, she isn't ambitious of being considered 
young. These "phenomena" having been 
sufficiently admired, our friend directs our 
attention to a cradle, in which lies an un- 
happy infant with a preternaturally large 
head. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 87 

"Extraordinary dewelopment of the cerebral 
horgans," he exclaims complacently; " that 
'ere's one o' the most wonderful freaks o'Na- 
tur' you ever seed — you won't see the like 
o'that if you travel the country round from 
John o' Groats to Lands End and back again 
— and yet wonderful as it is — I've some- 
thin' ere which is more wonderful still." 

As he speaks he produces from behind 
him what at first seems to be a hermetically- 
sealed pickle jar full of dirty water. On 
closer inspection we perceive that in this 
liquid there is floating a most awful mon- 
strosity consisting of two discolored half- 
formed infants stuck tight together. 

14 There," says the showman, " there's a 
walluable curiosity — twins born in that con- 
dition as you now be' old them— -there an't 
the like o' that 'ere anyveres. Why, it was 
only last Toosday that the Eoyal College o' 
Surgeons offered me — never mind how many 
sovs, money down, for that 'ere ; but I sent 
my respecs to the president, and told him, 



88 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

sorry as T wos to disappoint so happreciative a 
inind, that I wouldn't part with it at no price 
at all." 

This accumulation of horrors is too much, 
and we emerge again into the open air. 

The shades of night are falling fast and 
with their fall the crowd has considerably 
lessened. The theatre is closed, the " niggers " 
have disappeared, the trade at the stalls has 
grown slack, the orator of the waxworks ap- 
peals to unheeding ears. In an hour more 
the place will be quite deserted, for amusers 
and amused will alike be locked in the arms 
of Morpheus. 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 89 



A PROVINCIAL PANTOMIME. 



The inhabitants of Commerceton may be a 
very good people (as they ought to be, con- 
sidering that theirs is a cathedral town, and 
that nearly every other house is a church), 
and they may be a very industrious people 
(as there is no doubt they are), but certain it 
is that taken in the aggregate their tastes are 
not dramatic. It is not that they object on 
principle to public amusements. They will 
flock in crowds to hear a Madame Basso or a 
Signor Treblini pour forth unintelligible 
sonatas from Italian operas ; they will spend 
hours listening to the melodies of a band of 
Ethiopian Serenaders, or in wondering at the 
dexterous arts of a Wizard of the North. Mr. 
Charles Dickens meets, and deservedly meets, 



90 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

with a warm and enthusiastic reception when 
he comes down to instruct them in the legal 
technicalities of Pickwick and Bardell, or to 
melt their hearts over the beautiful pathos of 
his " Little Dcmbey." Nay, what is stranger 
still, whenever my excellent friend George 
Duncan volunteers a reading from the Great 
Bard himself, the very genius of the stage, the 
immortal Shakespeare, he invariably manages 
to secure a large and appreciative audience. 
But the drama, pure and legitimate, meets with 
a very different fate. Thalia or Melpomene 
in every-day dress at the lecture-room may 
find some favour, but directly they assume the 
mask and buskin, and appear at the foot-lights, 
they find themselves preaching to an empty 
house. In my recollection nearly a dozen 
speculators have successively undertaken the 
management of the Commerceton Theatre, 
and as successively failed. To say that the 
pieces are badly chosen, that the acting is 
below par, and that the actors themselves are 
of an inferior caste, may have been an excuse 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 91 

in former days. It is none now. The last 
gentleman who was venturesome enough to 
enter upon this hazardous undertaking, com- 
bines the two qualities of an enterprising man 
of business and a versatile and accomplished 
actor. He has annually expended a consider- 
able sum on the decorations of the house ; he 
gets up his plays with spirit, and is invariably 
supported by a commendable company. Still, 
if you turn into the pretty little theatre any 
night during the season, you will at once be 
struck by a blighting sense of the desolation 
which is around. You will perceive that, in 
addition to a half-filled pit and gallery, the 
box audience comprises a couple of gentle- 
men who are really lovers of the drama, one 
or two more who having nothing to do with 
themselves do it accordingly in a side-box, 
and perhaps two or three more who are ad- 
mitted free in virtue of some ancient right 
which I could never bring myself thoroughly 
to comprehend. 

Once a year, however, things theatrical 



92 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

assume a brighter aspect. Once a year — it 
may be oftener, but I am fearful of committ- 
ing myself — at genial Christmas time, enter- 
prising Mr. Thespis puts himself to some 
expense in order to regale the good folks with 
a Christmas pantomime. In order to start fair 
he is anxious to secure the bespeak of some 
great gun at an afternoon performance. Per- 
haps it is Sir Habeas Corpus, M.P., who is 
solicited for that honour, or perhaps it is 
Vavasour Broadlands, Esquire, High Sheriff 
for the county. The High Sheriff having 
children of an age which is of all the most 
enjoyable, seems the choicest of the twain, 
and he is accordingly selected. The great 
man consents, and for full a fortnight previous 
it is announced in blazing letters upon gor- 
geous bills that on the afternoon of Friday, the 
First of January, will be presented the ad- 
mirable, beautiful, comical, delectable, en- 
chanting, facetious, grotesque, and-so-forth- 
to-the-end-of-the-alphabet pantomime of Jack 
the Giant Killer, under the immediate patron- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 93 

age and presence of the High Sheriff of the 
county. 

It is further announced that the hour at 
which performances commence will be Two, 
p.m., that carriages (mark the plural number) 
may be ordered at four precisely. Of course 
this announcement has its effect,and some time 
before the eventful day arrives, the box-office 
is besieged by crowd after crowd of fashionable 
and well-dressed persons who want to take 
their seats in advance, until the bewildered 
check-taker, whose post has hitherto been an 
undoubted sinecure, begins to think of 
demanding an increase of salary forthwith. 
It may be that all this excitement is to be 
attributed, not to the fact of there being an 
" Admirable, Beautiful, Comical Pantomime,' 7 
to be seen, but simply to the fact of its being 
graced by the High Sheriff's immediate 
patronage and presence. It may be a little 
humiliating, this, I admit, but after all, Mr. 
Thespis, as long as we get what we want 



94 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

honestly and lawfully, it won't do to take it 
too much to heart how we get it. 

It wants but a quarter to two, and the 
house is already full. As befits my character 
of a quiet observer, I take my seat in a dis- 
tant corner of the left-hand side-box, and 
therefrom take note of the proceedings. The 
appearance of the dress circle is really quite 
exhilarating. In the centre, bland and 
beaming, and looking serenely conscious of 
his important position, sits Squire Broadlands, 
the High Sheriff. A mild-faced, matronly- 
lady at his side is Mrs. High Sheriff, and the 
three or four ruddy-cheeked little cherubs, 
who sit under her maternal eye in a state of 
the most feverish anticipation, are the young 
High Sheriffs — the eldest boy (who knows ?) 
a future candidate for the Shrievalty, when 
papa is under the turf. Around — forming a 
perfect ring of bright satellites round the major 
planet — are row after row of pretty girls all 
busily engaged in rustling their playbills, or 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 95 

smelling their bouquets, or talking soft non- 
sense to the smart young fellows at their 
sides. In the pit are a goodly assemblage of 
the " Baron's retainers, blithe and gay," with 
their children, while in the gallery two whole 
charity-schools, admitted gratuitously by the 
kind-hearted manager, show to considerable 
advantage. It is a touching sight to see so 
many children present at a time ; how happy 
and innocent they all look — all, from the 
squireens in the boxes to the paupers in the 
galleries — and what little difference, saving 
their dress, there is between them ! 

Meanwhile, the orchestra having brought 
a preparatory tuning to a conclusion (they 
have been u tuning," in sooth, for a whole 
week in advance, but it wouldn't do to look 
as if they had), have, in deference to some 
earnestly-expressed wishes from the gallery, 
" struck up" in good earnest, and to a 
thoroughly original, if slightly erratic, over- 
ture, the curtain rises upon scene the first. 
In this scene, Master Jack (represented by a 



96 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

lissom, active young lady) appears inter- 
changing some bitter words with his mamma, 
in consequence, it would appear, of that 
venerable party's prosaic temperament not 
duly appreciating his high-souled and more 
romantic nature. This domestic episode is 
interrupted by the appearance of an old 
beggar, who humbly sues a crust of bread. 
Jack's mother, with a due regard to the house- 
hold economy, pleads her own poverty, and 
her inability to meet such pressing demands, 
&c. Jack, more generous, offers the poor 
creature his own breakfast, who, at Jack's 
particularly-expressed desire to behold a 
fairy, casts off her disguise, and causes him 
to "behold one" in herself. And a remark- 
ably pretty one, too, as not only your humble 
servant, but boxes, pit, and gallery testify in 
one tremendous round of applause. Having 
obtained a magic sword, a magic cap, and a 
blessing at the hands of this enchanting 
creature, Jack sallies forth in search of ad- 
venture. He is not long in finding it. In 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 97 

the mountains of Wales there dwells a 
terrible giant, who is the scourge of the 
country for miles round, and whom it will be 
Jack's especial pleasure to exterminate from 
the face of the earth. We are introduced, to 
this unhappy country in scene the third, 
where, it would appear, the peasants are in 
the habit of performing an eccentric dance 
round a maypole, the sole aim and object of 
which seems to be the due entanglement of 
the ribbons which dangle from the top. It 
is under the especial sanction of their king, 
who appears in the foreground as a red- 
nosed caricature of the Bound Tabled and 
Tennysonian Arthur. King Arthur enters 
into familiar colloquy with his " knights," 
however, and, indeed, what with the back- 
handers, and digs in the stomach, with which 
he intersperses his remarks, affords to the 
rising generation a pleasing idea of the 
intimate relations which existed in the good 
old times between a monarch and his subjects. 
The conversation turns, of course, on the 

F 



98 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

terrible giant, each individual having some 
especial grievance to lay at his door. One 
in particular having suggested that, not con- 
tent with devastating their flocks, he had even 
taken to abducting their wives, meets from 
another the retort that u that might do some 
good, for though he hadn't stolen his, he wish 
he would f 1 a sally which, of course, brings 
down the house. 

Everyone, however, is seized with the 
panic, and it is not until the arrival of Master 
Jack that tranquillity is restored. That young 
gentleman having solved an arithmetical pro- 
blem about a herring and a-half, to the 
entire satisfaction of the king and court, is 
forthwith invested with the order of the 
garter, and full power to waylay, draw, and 
quarter the giant, if he can. At this moment 
a mighty roar is heard — the court fly off in 
trepidation, and enter an awful monster — ten 
feet high at least, with monstrous face and 
feet, but with an uncommonly weak voice- — 
for a giant. It is quite strong enough, how- 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 99 

ever, for the little children, who cower back 
with a look of terror as he tramps across the 
stage, and growls forth mysterious hints of 
smelling Englishmen's breath and of pounding 
their bones to make his bread. Still more 
terrified are they when he actually drags a 
screaming female to the front, and then and 
there, with fearful threats, declares his hopeless 
passion. His doom is fast approaching, how- 
ever. 

Scene the next reveals to us a room in his 
castle, where, upon a colossal table, are laid 
out colossal knives and forks, and a colossal 
pie — a human pie, who knows — deliciously 
spiced for the Titan's supper. It reveals 
likewise a half-starved menial of the giant's, 
who takes advantage of his master's absence 
to relate his woes, which consist chiefly in 
being kept on the starvation system, in a song, 
each verse of which terminates in a ghastly 
Tiddledyoodle — um! sort of chorus, which 
sends a palpable shudder through every frame. 
Into this pandemonium the giant brings his 

f 2 



100 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

luckless victim, but notwithstanding all the 
soft speeches he pours into her ear, and ten- 
der bits he places in her mouth, he fails to 
make the slightest impression. 

At this crisis enters Jack, who, with a deceit 
which is pardonable, entreats Mr. Poly- 
pheme's hospitality. That worthy, smacking 
his lips, and surveying Jack with the eye of 
an epicure, consents, and returns to his sup- 
per. After supper, Master Jack, having first 
reassured the poor girl of his intentions, 
creeps into bed, not as Hamlet would have 
said — " To sleep, perchance to dream I" but 
to watch for an opportunity of escape. The 
opportunity soon arrives, while Polypheme is 
snoring, and the fugitives are not slow to take 
advantage of it. Unluckily, however, the cook 
— a flame of our half- starved friend, both of 
whom have also resolved on flight — has con- 
tracted an awkward habit of dropping her 
pattens, her basket 3 and her umbrella, the 
combined effects of which arouse the giant 
from his torpor. Things look glum enough 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 101 

now ; but, nothing daunted, Jack unsheaths 
his sword, and after a terrible encounter, in 
which he is vastly assisted by the umbrella 
of the cook, succeeds like a second David in 
laying the mighty Goliath prostrate on the 
ground. Everything being thus satisfactorily 
settled, the fairy — who, like a policeman, 
isn't to be found until the row is over — 
suddenly appears, and transforms us to the 
Halls of Dazzling Delight — where, amid a 
blaze of red fire, and a whirl of revolving 
wheels, young ladies in gauze stand, in atti- 
tudes which, for their own personal comfort, 
it is hoped are not permanent in the Dazzling 
Halls. 

And then begins the harlequinade — Jack, 
of course, becomes harlequin — the giant, who 
talks for several minutes after he is dead, 
revives sufficiently to walk off L, and give 
place to the clown. 

" Here we are again, how are you to-mor- 
row r 



102 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Slap-bang — holloa, Joey, Is that you? or 
somebody else? 

Slap-bang — harlequin hits clown — clown 
thinks it was pantaloon, and retaliates, with 
interest. But old Joey is of a forgiving 
nature, and makes it up again. And then, 
all joining hands, go round and round, and 
round, at a rate which makes one giddy to 
look at. And then in good earnest begins 
the fun. The fun may be rather stale, per- 
haps — the jokes not remarkable for novelty, 
but what of that ? It is honest, hearty fun, 
and it makes the children laugh, and gladdens 
more than one young heart, and there is some- 
thing in being able to do that after all. 
There is a baby (of rags), which the panta- 
loon throws into a dust-bin, while the clown 
kisses its nurse. There is an unhappy shop- 
keeper, who is always being invited outside 
his shop on the most frivolous pretences, and 
who is always vowing vengeance, which he 
never executes. There is a fop, who is 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 103 

shaved, and a policeman, who is bonneted. 
There is an old maid, who is hustled, and a 
u green " who is cheated. There are won- 
derful riots, and street rows innumerable, 
until a general scrimmage, in which sausages, 
babies, bricks, carrots, fish, brooms, and, in 
fact, anything that comes handy, flying about 
in chaotic confusion, play a conspicuous part, 
bring us triumphantly to the Golden Glories 
of the sparkling waters. 

And so, amid a perfect hurricane of ap- 
plause, the pantomime comes to an end. And 
as " God save the Queen " strikes up, and the 
crowd disperse, we may gather from the 
general remarks that it has been by no means 
unfavourably received. 

u Not at all badly got up," observes Squire 
Broadlands, as he emerges into the open air. 

" Not at all," rejoins a friend, and there are 
others who echo his sentiments. 

Let us hope that the favourable opinion 
which they have formed may induce them to 
pay it a second visit. At any rate, let us 



104 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

rejoice that the result of the day's entertain- 
ment has been to give the worthy manager, 
what he so well deserves, a balance at his 
bankers. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 105 



ARCADES AMBO. 



Indeed, I beg your pardon, I am very sorry, 
but like Miss Lydia Thompson in the play, 
"I really couldn't help it 1" I am conscious 
of having perpetrated an abominable and an 
execrable pun, and I hereto breathe a solemn 
vow that I will be more careful for the future. 
For be it known to you — oh, much outraged 
and indignant reader — that this paper has 
nothing to do with things either pastoral or 
poetical, it is not intended as a learned pane- 
gyric on the Eclogues of Virgil, or the Bucolics 
of Theocritus ; it has no connection whatever 
with buxom Chloes in wide- flapping hats and 
high-heeled shoes, with looped-up petticoats, 
and episcopal crooks, with curly-headed 
ploughboys, who whistle o'er the lea, and 

f 5 



106 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 

tootle on the flute, with absurdly white lamb- 
kins begirt in blue neckties and tinkling bells. 
It is simply a little gossip on a couple of 
metropolitan thoroughfares — on both the 
arcades, in short; — Arcades Ambo (ah ! 
wretched punster that I am !), the Lowther 
and the Burlington. 

The arcades, I maintain, are peculiar to 
London, as peculiar to London as its statues 
or its cabmen. There are certain attempts of 
the same to be met with in Paris, and for that 
matter the Eue de Eivoli may be regarded as 
one gigantic arcade, with one side omitted. 
There is one, to the best of my recollection, 
to be groped for amid the smoke of Bristol, 
and at Boulogne, over the water, there is a 
feeble pretence, a miserable abortion of an 
arcade, which is positively beneath contempt. 
It is not that our London arcades are respec- 
tively from 200 to 245 feet in length, and 35 
in breadth ; there may be others, for aught I 
know to the contrary, which may be just as 
high and just as broad. And yet, I shall 






SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 107 

assert without fear of contradiction that it is 
in London alone, and in the regions about 
Piccadilly and the Strand, that the genus 
arcade is to be seen to perfection. 

Such wares that are sold there. Wares 
that couldn't possibly be found anywhere else 
— fragile, fantastic, gorgeous, glittering, and 
somewhat unusable wares. Totally differ- 
ent from anything in the streets — utterly dis- 
similar to anything at the bazaars. Most of 
them are imported from France and Germany, 
I am told. I am not so sure of that. I have 
stared at the shops in the Palais Royal, and 
meandered among the itinerant marchands at 
the Baths of Bigorre. I have lounged about 
the promenades of both the Badens, and pot- 
tered over those wonderful shops of Frankfort 
on the Maine, city of Jews and of staghorn 
brooches. Yet never saw I the likes — never 
have these eyes detected a trace of the foreign 
importation. 

41 A sublimate of superfluities," exclaims 
Mr. Sala, writing of the Burlington in one of 



108 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



his amusing essays. Perhaps so. Let us pro- 
ceed to examine into the justice of the charge 
44 Marriage/' sings an old poet — 

" Marriage, rightly understood, 
Is to the virtuous and the good 
A paradise on earth." 

But no marriage can be considered to be 
44 rightly understood " unless it is inaugurated 
by a number of wedding presents. It has 
long been a custom with the friends of a 
44 happy pair " to present them with some 
token of their regard and affection. But there 
has always been a great difficulty in deciding 
as to the nature of the gift. 44 Volo non 
valeo," the motto of the Earl of Carlisle, has 
been the motto also of the intending donor. I 
want to give something, but I don't know 
what. Aware of this fact an enterp rising 
tradesman has amassed together a number of 
articles, and has ticketed them together under 
the title of wedding presents. 

The extreme suitability of all of them will, 
I am sure, be obvious at a glance. To begin 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 109 

with, I find some ivory tablets ! on which, 
of course, the happy Benedict may note down 
the adventures of his honeymoon ; or, treating 
the matter from a more practical point of 
view, the lovely Beatrice may construct ima- 
ginary sums by way of initiating herself 
into the mysteries of housekeeping. Scotch 
plaid needlecases, which, by a delicate infer- 
ence, will suggest to Beatrice the possibility 
of a missing button from the shirt of her 
Benedict, and the necessity of replacing it 
forthwith. A needle-threader — a remark- 
able invention — which will save the lovely 
Beatrice from the loss of both time and 
temper. An ivory foot-rule, at two-and-six, 
which being eminently useful to the bachelor 
will be equally adapted to the Benedict — and 
a lucifer match-box at three-and-six, with the 
contents of which the happy pair can 
strike the light that shows them to their 
nuptial bed. 

A little further on is a jeweller's shop. In 
this will be observed brooches — the designs 



110 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

of which are curiously unique — over-ripe 
grapes, whity-brown cloves soaring aloft in 
an sether of pink, comical birds w ith ridicu- 
lously long necks, supposed to be swans — 
rarce aves in terns nigrisque dissimilce cygnis. 
The plate properly so called, affords a goodly 
show. The ingenuity of the manufacturer 
has been taxed to its utmost. He has dis- 
covered that the prandial civilization of the 
age requires something more than the ordi- 
nary knives, forks, spoons, &c, to which we 
have been accustomed, and accordingly pre- 
sents to our notice two other instruments of 
torture designed respectively as a " pickle- 
fork," and " crumb-scoop." 

A step or so beyond, and we come to a 
milliner's. In her windows flaunt almost 
everything that pertains to the feminine 
wardrobe. Ladies' hats, pork-pie, wide-a- 
wake, mushroom, Spanish — whatever may 
be the prevailing caprice of that august lady 
who presides over the millinery department 
of the French empire. Bonnets, too — light 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. Ill 

and gossamer — or weighty with flowers and 
with fruit ; bonnets to be worn off the head, or 
over the face, according as the " deformed 
thief, Fashion' ' wills — mouchoirs, which are of 
no practical use whatever, and sashes which 
are seemingly of less — dainty little gloves for 
riding in, for driving in, or (c y est possible) 
for "showing off" the dainty little hands 
which they contain. There are a few more 
articles of ladies' dress, which perhaps I had 
better not mention. 

44 Certainly not, sir," whispers the voice of 
a phantom female. 

May be, I ought not to reveal the fact that 
stockings and — 

44 Will you hold your tongue, sir ! ! " 

Let us pass on to the next shop. This is 
a stationer's, whose stock-in-trade, to judge 
from a stray engraving or two from a bygone 
annual, appears once to have been in legitimate 
art, but who has succumbed to the influence 
of photography, and whose window is radiant 



112 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

with the cartes-de-visite of our popular 
favourites. Koyalty, theology, and the 
drama come under his especial patronage, 
and the delightful disarrangement with which, 
by a slight stretch of the imagination, their 
several representatives may be grouped to- 
gether, will afford a spectacle which is highly 
amusing. Thus — His Eoyal Highness the 
Prince of Wales appears, with a charming 
condescension, side by side with the illus- 
trious Leotard, ready girt for the trapeze. 
Stella Colas looks sentimentally down from 
a balcony upon the venerable pate of the 
Bishop of Exeter, who however turns his 
back on her and looks uncommonly grim 
under the operation. Miss Lydia Thompson 
— attired as a sailor — is shooting one of her 
brightest glances at his lordship of Oxon, 
which he, judging by the ever present smile 
upon his mouth, seems by no means disposed 
to resent ; while the flirtation which appears 
to have been going on between kindly-fea- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 113 

tured Archdeacon Denison and Miss Adelina 
Patti, of the E. I. 0., has reached a pass 
which is positively desperate. 

But of all the wares vendable at the 
Arcades the most attractive are undoubtedly 
the toys. Perhaps it is through old associa- 
tions — perhaps it is that they remind us of 
our childhood — 

Scenes of our childhood, whose loved recollection 
Embitters the present, compared with the past — 

and the days when we delighted in toys our- 
selves. 

Most of us have played with toys in our 
time. Some of us never leave off playing 
with them. We blow our bubbles, and 
shake our rattles, and wear our baby-masks, 
till the sands run down, and our prime is 
past, and it is too late to " put away childish 
things/ ' Toys, like everything else, have 
undergone a great change. They are more 
elaborately made, more scientifically con- 
structed than they were. Drums and trum- 



114 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

pets, shields and swords, guns — the extent of 
whose " charge " was a dried pea, and whose 
triggers were constructed on principles which 
set Mr. Busk u on the rifles" at defiance — these 
are here in abundance. But in addition 
thereto, I take note of a pistol which is to be 
loaded with a real amorce of gunpowder — 
to the damage of nobody in truth, but to the 
total destruction of an old maid's nerve. I 
note, too, another interesting and instructive 
toy. It represents a French school, in the 
middle of which figures Mons. le Cure, stick 
in hand (by the way, I thought that corporal 
punishment had been abandoned by the 
Gallic pedagogues), while the scholars cower 
tremblingly around him, Such a spectacle of 
scholastic discipline cannot fail to have a most 
salutary effect. I shall purchase that toy for 
master Tom, next time he misbehaves him- 
self. 

But in the matter of toys, I think the Low- 
ther bears the palm. Therein 1 recognize 
my old friends the nine-pins — dignified, for- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 115 

sooth, by the name of " skittles." I renew 
acquaintance also with my Noah's Ark, the 
four patriarchs and their wives attired as of 
yore, in the primitive costume of Jim Grow 
hats and flannel dressing-gowns. I revisit 
my farm, which only cost ninepence to begin 
with, and, unlike those in which I have 
since become interested, was never known to 
be out of repair. My regiment too is here, 
with their under-standings terminating to a 
man in one gigantic clubfoot, a deformity 
which one would have thought would have 
effectually prevented their admission into the 
army. My fiery charger also, with his scarlet 
nose and luxuriant tail, and with his saddle 
nailed remorselessly into his back, and my 
horrible flagellum wherewith to urge him on; 
a seemingly unnecessary weapon, since he is 
already in a most alarming state of canter. 

For the gentler sex in ringlets and frilled 
trousers, there are dolls in profusion. Dolls 
blue-eyed and black-eyed — dolls dark-haired 
and flaxen-haired, dolls with waxen necks and 



116 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

trunks of bran and extremities of wood ; and 
remarkable dolls, whom the proprietor recom- 
mends as possessing such valuable attributes 
as " real hair ! " and " moving eyes ! u 

Having brought our examination to a close, 
let us revert to our orignal proposition. 
Ought either of the Arcades to be regarded 
as a " Sublimate of superfluities ?'' Not for 
the children ! Oh ! no ! I am sure that Mr. 
Sala does not mean that. Nothing that can 
give a young child rational and innocent enjoy- 
ment can be superfluous. To that dictum 
will I stick in the face of every Pipchin 
and Murdstone in the universe. To that dic- 
tum will I stick in spite of all the old spin- 
sters who, having no children of their own, 
think to revenge themselves upon Nature 
by bullying other people's. But for the 
adults ? Peut-itre — it may be. That portly 
matron, for instance, what can she want, at 
her time of life, with a whole pheasant on 
the top of her hat ? That young man with 
the rubicund nose and the velveteen coat, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 117 

what does lie want with the shilling paste-pin 
which he has got stuck so ostentatiously into 
his neckerchief? We know there was a little 
boy once who cried for the moon. Not that 
the moon would have been of the slightest 
use to him when he had got it. It is in 
human nature to want a great deal more than 
we need, to desire what is vain and unprofi- 
table, and it is for the supplying of this 
want of human nature that the Arcades are 
designed. 



118 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 



ONLY A POOR PLAYER. 



There are few spots in all this memory- 
haunted London so fraught with pleasant 
associations as the centre house of the Adelphi 
Terrace. The Adelphi Terrace is not by any 
means a desirable locality ; its look-out is 
gloomy and unattractive, embracing a full 
view of the unsavoury Thames, the penny 
steamboats, and the Waterloo Bridge Station ; 
its houses are yellow and dingy, and alto- 
gether devoid of architectural beauty; its 
inhabitants are composed of such prosaic and 
practical people as surveyors and civil- 
engineers. And yet if walls had tongues 
(and as they are proverbially supposed to 
have ears, I see no reason why they should 
be bereft of the other organ), they would re- 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 119 

veal the reason of my attachment to this 
unprepossessing locality, for they would say 
that this was the residence of David Garrick. 

David Garrick proved himself a votary of 
Thespis at a very early age. In vain was he 
set to study classics under Johnson, and 
mathematics under Colson ; his passion for 
the drama engrossed the whole of his atten- 
tion. When his masters expected a copy of 
Tambics or a demonstration of the " Asses 
Bridge," he would show them a comedy 
which he had composed in their stead. He 
had the first opportunity of gratifying his 
passion at Ipswich. The part that he played 
was that of Oboan in u Oronooko." He was 
so favourably received on this occasion that 
he resolved to try his fortunes in London. 

Party spirit ran very high just then, and 
managers were not so ready to encourage 
rising talent as they are now-a-days. Con- 
sequently the young aspirant was fain to 
make his debut at a minor theatre, then 
situate in Goodman's Fields. The part which 



120 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

he selected was that of Bichard III., chosen, 
it is understood, because of its suitability to 
his stature. He was greeted at first by but a 
very " limited audience," but ere he had 
been there six nights his success became un- 
equivocal. Crowds flocked from all parts to 
hear him. Goodman's fields was filled with 
the splendor of the West End ; aristocratic 
carriages blocked up the road between 
Temple Bar and Whitechapel ; the houses of 
Drury Lane and Covent Gardens were com- 
pletely deserted ; Garrick had become, in 
fact, the " sensation " of the day. The 
secret of this success lay in the thoroughly 
natural style of his acting. He borrowed all 
his lessons from nature. The public had 
been long accustomed to players who, as 
Hamlet says, " neither having the accent of 
christians, nor the gait of christians, pagan, 
nor mussulmen, have so strutted and bellowed 
I have thought some of nature's journeymen 
had made them, and not made them well, 
they imitated humanity so abominably." He 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 121 

disdained to resort any such artifices. His style 
was easy and familiar, yet thoroughly forcible. 
He " suited the action to the word, the word 
to the action." He seemed to be, rather than 
to act, the character which he personated. So 
true to the life were his representations that 
it is recorded that on one occasion when he 
was playing King Lear, one of the soldiers 
who stood on the stage blubbered 
like a child.* Another instance of this is 
to be found in a scene which occurred 
at a hotel in Paris during his stay 
in that city. At this hotel Mr. Garrick was 
induced to relate and exhibit by action a cer- 
tain fact of which he had just been an eye 
witness. 

u A father," he said, u was engaged in 
fondling his child at the window ; as he was 
thus engaged the child sprang from the 
father's arms, fell upon the ground, and died 
on the spot." Whereupon he threw himself 



* A Book for a Rainy Day, by J. T. Smith, Author of " Nollekens and 
his Times." London : Bentley, New Burlington, Street. 



122 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

into the attitude in which the father appeared 
the moment the child sprang from his arms. 
The effect of this representation was perfectly 
magical. Every one was in tears, and 
Madme. Clarion, a French actress of con- 
siderable repute, with the impulsive spirit 
which characterizes her nation, rushed over 
to Mr. Garrick and kissed him, at the same 
time apologising to Mrs. Garrick, and saying 
that it was an involuntary mark of her ap- 
plause. 

His fame spread so rapidly that a deputa- 
tion was sent expressly from Dublin to invite 
him to act there during the summer season. 
The enthusiastic reception which he met with 
from the warm-hearted natives exceeded all his 
anticipations. The theatre was nightly 
crowded with persons of rank and fashion, 
and this, too, at a time when the heat was in- 
tense. So intense, that ere long an epidemic 
distemper arose, and carried off large numbers 
of the audience, which was in consequence 
nick-named the " Garrick fever." In the en- 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 123 

suing year he was engaged by Mr. Fleet- 
wood, of the T. D. E. It was about this time 
that he first gave proof of the versatility of 
his genius. Tragedy, comedy, or farce seemed 
equally easy to him. All alike were open to his 
imitation, and all alike did honour to his exe- 
cution. One night he was the aged Lear, 
abandoned by his children ; on another the 
youthful Hamlet, tracking out the murderers 
of his father ; on one night he was the love- 
sick Eomeo, and on another the happy 
Benedict. On some occasions, after calling 
down the loudest applause in the tragedy by 
his powerful rendering of the deepest passions, 
he would re-appear as a dancing harlequin in 
the pantomime. 

This versatility, however, cost him dear 
anon, and was the means of his losing a 
wealthy wife. It appears that a young lady 
of great beauty and fortune having witnessed 
his performance of the gay Lothario, was so 
smitten with him that she sent him by deputy 
an offer of her hand and — portion. The 

g 2 



124 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



deputy promised to call again in a fortnight 
and fix a day of meeting. The appointed 
day arrived, but no lady appeared. Some 
time after he met her in the street and de- 
manded the reason of this delay. 

u Oh, dear !" said she, "it is all over; the 
young lady has seen you play Abel Drugger, 
and her love is all gone." 

At the conclusion of his term at Drury 
Lane he entered into a three years' partnership 
with Sheridan, the manager of Smock- Alley 
Theatre, Dublin, and then returned to fulfil a 
short engagement with Eich, of Covent Gar- 
den. At this theatre he acted in company 
with his former rival, Quin. The pieces were 
so judiciously arranged that they might ap- 
pear together to advantage, and in some cases 
where this was impracticable they were to 
appear on alternate nights. When it 
became known that both these great actors 
were on the boards together the house 
was nightly filled. In fact such was the 
success of Mr. Kich's speculation that the 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 125 

profits arising from the plays in eight months 
(Sept., 1746, to May, 1747), amounted to 
nearly £9,000. This was Garrick' s last ap- 
pearance as a hired actor. Lacy, the rival 
manager at Drury Lane, perceiving how great 
were his attractions, determined on securing 
his services himself. With this view he 
offered him the moiety of the Drury Lane 
patent, which had just been renewed. 
Garrick was much pleased with the offer, and 
in April, 1747, the agreement was drawn up 
to the satisfaction of both. In his managerial 
capacity Garrick instituted many important 
reforms. He revised several of Shakspeare's 
plays, only nine of which were then in 
possession of the stage. Among these was 
Eomeo and Juliet — which had been neglected 
for upwards of eighty years ; and which — 
fortunately for the fame of Stella Colas — he 
now completely resuscitated. 

But there was a still greater evil which 
he had to encounter. It had been the 



126 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

custom for many years to admit noble- 
men behind the scenes during the per- 
formance, and this privilege had been so 
shamefully abused that they were now to be 
seen not only behind the scenes, but on the 
stage and mingling with the performers, so 
that at last one could hardly tell the repre- 
sented Marquis from the real one. Baron, in- 
deed, to shame the people out of this idle 
custom, was wont to turn his back upon the 
pit and play to the audience on the stage. 
On one occasion while Garrick was acting 
the part of King Lear, at Dublin, with pretty 
Peg Woffington as Cordelia, a young man 
rushed from behind the scenes upon the stage 
and threw his arms around her waist. Such 
an outrage to common decency could not 
escape the great actor's notice, and as soon 
as he became a manager himself he took care 
that few but the performers should be allowed 
to visit behind the scenes of his " house." 
In 1763, a certain Miss Brent having at- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 127 

tracted the people to the rival theatre on 
the strength of her voice, legitimate tragedy 
had for a time to succumb to opera. 

Garrick embraced this opportunity of 
taking a trip to Italy, a journey which he had 
often meditated. On his return from abroad 
he abandoned acting for awhile, and betook 
himself to authorship. It was then that he 
produced many of his best, and most brilliant 
pieces — as instances of which Cymon, The 
Christmas Tale, and Bon Ton may be fairly 
cited. 

In 1 769, he took part in the Stratford Ju- 
bilee, a pageant produced in honour of Shaks- 
peare. 

The entertainment was conducted on the 
grandest scale — many persons of the highest 
rank, the most celebrated beauties and the 
most distingushed geniuses thinking them- 
selves happy to be present and to hear the 
ode which Mr. Garrick had composed on the 
occasion. 

In 1776 — being then in the sixtieth year 



128 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

of his age, and having for some time past 
been the victim of a dreadful disease, he an- 
nounced his intention of quitting the stage. 

The piece which he selected for his final 
appearance was entitled u The Wonder — a 
Woman keeps a Secret." 

When it was concluded he advanced to- 
wards the audience to address them for the 
last time. 

The scene in the theatre is described as 
having been most affecting — there was not a 
dry eye to be seen. His own emotion was 
very great, and he was unable to proceed 
with his speech till relieved by a flood of 
tears. 

After a life of hard work spent in the ser- 
vice of a noble Art, he might naturally have 
looked forward to an old age of ease and 
affluence. But it was not to be. 

In Christmas, 1778, while enjoying the 
pleasures of a rural retirement under the hos- 
pitable roof of Lord Spencer, he was seized 
with a sudden attack of his old complaint. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 129 

He hurried back to London, and sent for 
his doctors — but they saw at once that it was 
too late — and that there was no hope. 

Many physicians attended on him without 
any desire of reward and solely from a desire 
to give him relief and prolong a life so valuable 
to the public, so dear to all who knew and 
loved him. 

When Dr. Schomby approached, Garrick 
with a placid smile upon his countenance 
took his hand saying, " Though last, not least 
in love." 

He died on the twentieth of January, 1777, 
and was buried at Westminster Abbey, under 
the monument of his beloved Shakspeare. 

It must not be thought that there were no 
thorns in the cushion — no hyssop in the cup 
of David Garrick. Like most men, and espe- 
cially men who are successful, he had his full 
share of envy, malice, hatred, and all un- 
charitableness to live down. He found little 
favour to begin with, from Royalty. The 
foolish old king who couldn't see the fun of 

G 5 



130 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

Hogarth's "March to Finchley," and who 
didn't care for u boetry and bainting," regar- 
ded the sister art with still greater abhor- 
rence. He couldn't conceive, he said, that a 
man capable of acting the crookback monster 
Eichard the Third could be an honest man ! ! 
Foote, the buffoon, was so addicted to 
satire and raillery, sparing neither friends nor 
foes, neither father, mother, body, soul, nor 
muse, in his unceasing ridicule, that one can 
hardly wonder at so public a man as Garrick 
coming in for his share. Yet when one con- 
siders that they met each other every day on 
terms of the greatest intimacy, that they dined 
in each other's society, that they visited at each 
other's house, one cannot but feel that the 
jests in which the wit indulged at the expense 
of his friend were highly indecorous and im- 
proper. And yet Garrick returned this un- 
generous conduct by every act of kindness and 
friendship. When there was a talk of sup- 
pressing his puppet show, Garrick exerted 
all his interest to prevent it, and again when 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 131 

lie laboured under a charge of the vilest 
nature, Garrick was one of the first to avow 
his belief in his innocence. 

Even Churchill, the bosom friend of Jack 
Wilkes, who in his stinging Eosciad had 
attacked every actor of note, except 
Garrick — took care in his " Apology " to 
insert some bitter lines on the great trage- 
dian himself. The cause of this was to be attri- 
buted to his having looked coldly on his pane- 
gyrist, for, to his honor be it said, he scorned 
to have a " Colossus raised to him on the 
broken statues of his coternporaries." 

But it was from the rejected candidates for 
histrionic honours, from the incompetent 
dramatists, composers of tragedy, comedy, or 
farce, that the unhappy manager received the 
foulest blows. There was Mr. James Ealph 
who after much importunity had prevailed 
on Garrick to act his play of u the Astrologer." 
The play was brought out and unequivocally 
damned. 

Garrick endeavoured to dissuade him from 



132 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

devoting his time to a branch of literature 
for which he was wholly unfit and at the 
same time generously obtained for him a 
pension of £200. In return for which kindness 
Mr. Ealph wrote a portly pamphlet teeming 
with abuse of his benefactor. 

Then there was Mr. Shirley, who waxed 
exceeding wroth because Garrick had advised 
him to let his tragedy of u Electra " be acted 
in the summer instead of the winter season. 
Soon afterwards there appeared a terrible 
tract yclept u Hecate's Prophecy" — in which 
Garrick was charged with encouraging pan- 
tomimes and farces to the neglect of the legi- 
timate drama ; an accusation which was 
utterly unjust and untrue. 

Ere very long, it is recorded, they were re- 
conciled to each other, but solely through 
Garrick's good nature. 

The motives which induced Dr. Hiffernan 
to concoct a foul slander, as devoid of wit as 
of truth against the peace and happiness of 
the prosperous manager, have ever been 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 133 

buried in obscurity. Some say that be was 
offended because Garrick bad only given bim 
a guinea in aid of certain lectures wbicb be 
purposed delivering (and never delivered) ; 
others, tbat be was enraged botb witb tbis 
gentleman, and Mr. Rich, for rejecting bis 
piece, u Tbe Wishes of a Free People,"— a 
piece " without plan, without poetry, or any 
tolerable language to attract the attention of 
the reader" — which, when acted, was uni- 
versally condemned. Be the motives, how- 
ever, what they may, the slander had such 
an effect on the unhappy victim that be was 
fain to hush it up, and buy off tbe slanderer. 
One can hardly conceive a man like Tobias 
Smollett descending to such pitiful ebulitions 
of wounded vanity. Yet, in u Eoderic 
Random," will be found severe strictures on 
both Garrick and Quin, because they had 
rejected a crude play of his, written in early 
youth, and entitled " The Regicide." Not- 
withstanding this, be bad no sooner published 



134 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

his famous comedy of "The Tars," than 
Garrick, oblivious to his attacks, accepted it, 
and brought it out in a most liberal manner. 
Smollett was so struck with the manager's 
kindness, that he could not rest until he had 
atoned for his own injustice, and accordingly, 
in the preface to his edition of u The Winter's 
Tale/' he stated that, u he thought it his duty 
to make public atonement in a work of truth, 
for the wrongs he had done him in a work of 
fiction." 

Unfortunately the great actor was of a 
very sensitive nature ; a false report would 
alarm him greatly, a spiteful letter, an un- 
generous review, a scurrilous pamphlet, would 
affect him for many days afterwards. He 
lent a ready ear to every idle tale that was 
brought to him ; he never took thought of 
the wilfulness of gossips, of the worthlessness 
of scandal-mongers. He never reflected with 
the witty old Dean of St. Patrick's that "it 
is the worthiest people who are the most 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 135 

assailed by slander, as we usually find that 
to be the best fruit which the birds have 
been pecking at." 

But it is not of his faults that T would 
speak. In comparison with his virtues, they 
are but as drops in the ocean. Above all, 
we must remember that he had that quality 
which the apostle assures us will cover a 
multitude of sins — he was profusely generous 
and charitable to the poor. He was once 
asked to give a trifle to a poor widow. He 
enquired how much he should give. His 
petitioner suggested a couple of guineas. 
" No/' said Garrick, " I will not," and im- 
mediately presented him with a bank note of 
£30. On another occasion, a gentleman of 
fashion borrowed of him £500, for which 
sum he gave his note of hand. Through 
misfortune, the gentleman's affairs became 
greatly embarrassed; his friends thereupon 
determined to satisfy his creditors at once, 
and free him from debt. Garrick, on hearing 
of this, instead of putting in his claim, sent 



136 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

him a £500 note, at the same time desiring 
he would consign the note he had in his pos- 
session, to the flames. While sojourning in 
Venice, he fell in with a poor English artist, 
whose desire it was to get a sight of the 
paintings and sculptures of the Eternal City, 
but who wanted the wherewithal to make 
the journey. Garrick assured him he need 
not distress himself, and forthwith advanced 
him £50. It was his annual custom, on May 
day, to invite all the poor children of Hamp- 
ton into his garden, where he feasted them 
royally, and then sent them home with 
heavier purses and with lighter hearts than 
they had ever known before. 

In addition to these private acts of benevo- 
lence, it must ever be remembered that it 
was Garrick who founded and supported 
both by his talents and his wealth, the 
" Drury Lane Play House Fund for the relief 
of decayed actors" — the precursor, I believe, 
of the noble institution which now exists 
under the name of the Theatrical Fund. To 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 137 

this fund he gave a house in Druiy Lane, and 
having afterwards bought it back again, he 
generously bequeathed the purchase money to 
the fund. It is computed that by his acting, 
and by donations combined, he was a bene- 
factor to this admirable institution of a capital 
of near £4,500 sterling. If one wanted the 
testimony of contemporaries to the excellence 
of this great and good man, one might find 
it in the glowing eloquence of Sheridan, or 
the brilliant verse of Churchill ; but let us 
take it rather from the rough, bearish, but 
withal, kindly-hearted Dr. Samuel Johnson. 
Bozzy had one day smirkingly suggested 
u Garrick is a very good man, a charitable 
man." u Sir !" thundered the doctor, 
u Garrick is a liberal man; he has given 
away more money than any man in England;" 
and, of his acting — " Garrick, sir, has advanced 
the dignity of his profession ; he has made 
the player a higher character." 

It is a queer contrast : this great, good man 
— so pure of heart — so free from guile — so 



138 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

honest of intent — so faithful to his friends — 
so generous to his foes — so neglectful of self 
— so ready to promote the happiness of others 
— and his contemporary — that foppish fribble 
— Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chester- 
field ! 

Philip Stanhope wrote a book of letters to 
his bastard son — a book which honest old 
Johnson stigmatized as " inculcating the 
morals of a loose woman with the manners of 
a dancing master." Philip Stanhope was too 
grand a man to take notice of David Garrick. 
When he waited upon him on the night of 
his benefit, we are told that he did not even 
return his salute ! But then, Philip Stanhope, 
Earl of Chesterfield, had been High Steward 
of the Household, Knight of the Garter, and 
was then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland ! 
And David Garrick was " only a poor 
player." 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 139 



AN ARTFUL DODGER. 



Did you ever hear of Major Clancie ? I think 
not. You won't find his name in the Army 
List of this year, or any other year that I am 
aware of. He never held a commission 
(though he was frequently being "committed"), 
and though he was often seen in court, it was 
never at a court martial. In short, Major 
Clancie wasn't a major at all — he wasn't a 
soldier at all — he was simply about the most 
consummate swindler that ever trod the face 
of the earth. It would be a pity in an age 
which has produced such eminent professors 
of the art as Sir John Dean Paul, as Messrs. 
Robson and Redpath, or as William Roupell, 
that the career of so great a master as the 
Major should be wholly forgotten, and more 



140 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

especially when we consider that his biogra- 
phy was " undertaken " some two centuries 
since, at the u express command " and un- 
der the especial patronage of the distinguished 
Countess of Marlborough. 

For the main facts of the Major's u strange, 
eventful history," I am indebted to a curious 
old book, which is dated 1680, and is thus 
intituled — 



The 

LIFE 

and 

DEATH 

Of 

Major Clancie, 

The Grandest Cheat 

of this 

Age, 

Wherein 

Is set forth many of his Villanous Projects (Real matter of 

Fact), both in England, Ireland, France, Spain, and Italy. 



" The reading of which," the biographer 
assures us "will give the reader great satis- 
faction." In the hope that they may also give 
my readers great satisfaction, I shall proceed 
to make a summary of the most diverting of 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 141 

these adventures, at the same time adding 
with our author in his preface, "if it please, 
I have my wish, if not, I can but be sorry 
that what was so well intended should have 
so ill success. It is impossible to please all, 
and, therefore, I content myself if I am so 
fortunate as to please any." 

When we are first introduced to our hero 
he is serving as a page to one Monsieur Monery, 
a French gentleman, on a visit to Ireland. 
Young Clancie accompanied his master back 
to Paris, and there became so great a favourite 
that Monsieur " could not conceal from his 
friends how precious a jewel he had in his 
boy, and that there was not a thing in the 
world he could not trust him with." By 
and bye Mons. Monery had occasion to travel 
and the precious jewel was left in charge of 
his house and chattels. Now Clancie, we are 
told, very diligently came to discharge his 
trust by airing the clothes, &c, and sometimes 
" fingering the money," but only, we are as- 



142 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

sured, to wonder at the greatness of the sum 
which had been left in his keeping. 

One day, however — a bright sunshiny day 
it was — the temptation proved too strong for 
him. While engaged in his usual business of 
brushing and airing his master's clothes, it 
comes into his head to try on a suit just to see 
how they became him. On surveying himself 
in the glass, he was so startled that he hardly 
knew u who that was in such a habit." A 
moment's reflection convinces him that it is 
no other than Master Clancie, and a moment 
more, what a lucky dog he would be to pos- 
sess all this finery. How to effect this ? He 
has it. He will tell the people of the house 
to remove the boxes to his master's country 
house, " where he is commanded to wait his 
coming." 

The people believing that such was the case, 
for of course the precious jewel would not lie, 
help him to pack up, provide him with carts, 
and see him out of compliment half-way upon 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 143 

his journey. And then, no sooner are their 
backs turned than Master Clancie u steers his 
course another way," makes for the sea-side, 
and em-barks on board a ship that is bound 
for Wexford. 

At Wexford he was received with great state, 
"the show he made by his equipage and the 
liberality with which he dispensed (his mas- 
ter's) money among the sailors having won 
him golden opinions, and convinced them 
that he must be a great man." At Wexford 
he became quite the lion, his society was 
everywhere courted, his discourse very taking, 
u especially among the ladies and the better 
sort." He had not been here long before a 
certain Earl of Crafford, a Scotch nobleman, 
arrived from Spain. The Wexfordians anxious 
to do him honour, entreat Major Clancie (as 
he appears now to have dubbed himself) to 
" countenance them in this interest." The 
Major would desire nothing better, and acted 
as their spokesman so satisfactorily that they 
" looked on it as an addition to the many 



144 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

former favours he had conferred upon them." 
My lord is much pleased with his reception, 
and is especially delighted with Major Clancie 
whom he invites next day to a magnificent 
banquet. At this banquet he falls in with a 
Mr. Cheevers, whose delight in the Major's 
conversation is, like that of every one else 
with whom he had come into contact, un- 
bounded. 

To Mr. Cheevers' house he is invited forth- 
with. Here, however, it is observed by the 
other guests that the major is paying very 
marked attentions to Miss Katherine, the 
eldest daughter of his host. Mr. Cheevers, 
getting scent of this, determines to sound her 
on the point, and — like the rich merchant in 
u Villikins " — has an interview with her in the 
garden. Some words pass between them, and 
the scene closes on the fond parient admonish- 
ing his daughter to beware, lest she fall into 
the hands of one who might prove "a coun- 
terfeit." 

This polite inuendo on the character of her 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 145 

lover the dutiful daughter immediately con- 
veys to him. The major fires up tremen- 
dously, talks of wounded honour, base asper- 
sions, reparation, and the like, until softened 
down a little by the tears and entreaties of 
his mistress. Meanwhile he bethinks himself 
of a safer mode of vindicating his outraged 
honour. At dinner he is observed to be less 
talkative than usual, whereupon the company 
entreat to know the reason. Mr. Cheevers in 
particular is most anxious to learn the cause 
of his guest's depression. Then the Major 
turns upon him, and accuses him point blank 
of calling him a u counterfeit," threatening to 
quit his roof at once, as u after such an affront 
he could think no better of himself than a 
Bedlam if he were to stay." That night he 
returned to Wexford in company with his 
friend, Lord Crafford. 

The major, finding that suspicion is aroused, 
and dreading lest other discoveries should be 
made, bethinks himself of some method of 
escape. Accordingly, he entreats the favour 

H 



146 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

of his friend Lord Crafford's company to din- 
ner, on which occasion he will give him proof 
positive that he is no counterfeit, as has been 
vainly imagined, but the true son of his father. 
Ere dinner is served the major dispatches his 
servant to Eoss with all his luggage " where 
he is commanded to take lodgings and await 
his master's coming.' ' 

After dinner dice-boxes are brought, and 
the major calls for his servant to bring him 
some money. To this, of course, there is no 
response. My lord, nothing loth, offers his 
friend the loan of £40, and the game begins. 
Suddenly the major starts up as if called upon 
in haste, and quits the room. Meanwhile, 
play goes on, and healths are drunk, and songs 
are sung, " till at last the company grow 
weary, and call for their servants to attend 
them to their several homes — some to lead, 
and some to carry." 

But, and here is the climax, before they part, 
in comes the master of the house with a long 
bill of fare in his hand. Every one is as- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 147 

tounded, and asks what lie means. To which 
the poor fellow replies that the major is gone 
without ever paying him a penny, and that he 
hoped that the gentlemen will not let him be 
ruined. 

" The gentlemen looking on one another 
are all struck dumb," but my lord, in the 
simplicity of his heart, assures them that u his 
friend the major could not do an unhandsome 
thing, that doubtless it would all be cleared 
up in time," and so— -pays the bill himself. 

The major soon returns to my lord and 
makes his apologies. In exchange whereof, 
he begs the loan of some horses and servants, 
for that he has formed the design of abduct- 
ing his lady-love from the home of her father. 
My lord is only too ready to oblige his friend, 
and the party set out. The lady is taken 
and is "interchanging lovelooks " with the 
major, when they find to their horror that 
they are pursued. A terrible scuffle ensues, 
in the course of which Miss Katherine is 
recovered, Lord Crafford taken prisoner, 

h 2 



148 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

but the major — with his usual luck, though 
wounded, contrives to make his escape. 
Another plan is devised, in which our hero 
does not come off so easily. Miss Kate, it 
appears, dispatched a letter to her lover by 
her foster sister, imploring him to meet her 
privately, at a certain appointed time. The 
foster sister turns traitor, and shows the 
letter to Mr. Cheevers, the result of which is, 
that when poor Clancie arrives at his ren- 
dezvous, got up in his best, and prepared for 
" sweet kisses/' he is met by a company of 
Clubbatiers, who pay him with " buffets and 
crab-sticks in such a pickle as never was any 
poor man before in such a posture." 

At Eoss he makes himself as popular as 
ever — feasting at the houses of the great, and 
giving feasts in return. 

At one of these entertainments he calls 
aside " one of those with whom he had con- 
tracted the greatest friendship" — a certain Mr. 
White — and entreats of him the loan of 
£C0, in consideration whereof, he promises 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 149 

him a farm of £50 a year, rent free for his 
life, and offers to leave him one of his trunks 
as a security. 

This gentleman, who had married " with- 
out either his wife's parents' consent or his 
own," and who appears to have been rather 
hen-pecked, sallies forth to ask the opinion of 
his wife. 

" The wife made many excuses at first, but 
at last being by her husband importuned 
with so much earnestness, consented," and 
handed up the required sum. 

Meanwhile the "jollity " continued, healths 
were drunk, and the company got " very 
elevated." Clancie, who had waited for this, 
quietly leaves the room, turns his steps to 
the harbour, and there bargains with the 
captain of a vessel to take him to Kilkenny. 
Very soon afterwards, Mrs. White, who, like 
most of her sex, was of a curious tempera- 
ment, was seized with an irrepressible desire 
of examining into the contents of the major's 
trunk. Her husband, at first, will not hear 



150 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

of its being opened ; but " being much 
pressed," consents, on condition of its being 
done in the presence of the Mayor and Cor- 
poration ! Accordingly the Mayor arrives 
with his retinue u to witness this great ex- 
ploit." The smith is sent for — the tools are 
applied — the box is broken open, and then ! 
" the first thing met with is a piece of satin 
with which all the rest was covered, which 
you may believe were better so than seen : for 
from that piece of satin, to the bottom of the 
trunk, there was nothing but brick-bats, and 
clods of earth ! ! ! " 

But, alas ! what followed ? a The wife 
seeing herself cheated without any hope of 
being relieved, falls a railing at her husband. 
From railing she falls to fighting of him ; so 
that the Mayor had enough to do to part man 
and wife, whose best pastime is to scold, im- 
puting the blame of all misfortunes to each 
other" (whereunto the author adds a philo- 
sophical reflection, the logic of which may be 
questioned ; ) "a fate that attends stolen 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 151 

matches, so made without the privity or 
consent of parents ! " 

Our hero next turns up at Towmond, where 
he becomes the constant guest of Mr. Mac- 
nemarroe. One day, as he is riding in the 
neighbourhood, he falls in with a gentleman, 
whom he ascertains to be the son of Lord 
Mountgarrot, and to whom he coolly intro- 
duces himself. He pleads in excuse for such 
conduct, his position as the affianced of Mr. 
Butler's relative— Miss Oheevers — that upon 
further acquaintance Mr. Butler will be able 
to convince his — the major's — father-in-law 
of his error in supposing him a counterfeit. 
With a view to such further acquaintance, he 
persuades Mr. Butler to spend the night at 
the house of his friend, Macnemarroe. On 
that gentleman's return, civilities are inter- 
changed, and the mutual relationship of the 
major and my lord are thoroughly explained. 
Next morning Mr. Butler sets off for Lime- 
rick, with his friend the major duly mounted 
on one of Macnemarroe's horses, the owner of 



152 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

which " was ashamed to deny him in the 
presence of Mr. Butler, before whom he had 
been so kind." 

At Limerick they stayed, till one morning 
at breakfast, in comes a servant of the major 
(according to that worthy's previous instruc- 
tions), with a doleful complaint from his 
honour's tenants. The major goes out, as if 
to pacify them, first, however, borrowing his 
friend Butler's cloak, belt, and rapier, and, as 
usual, rides quite another way altogether. 
He takes the road to Galway, and is congra- 
tulating himself on the success of his ruse, 
when who should he meet but his " very 
good friend," Macnemarroe ! That gentleman 
immediately seizes him and has him com- 
mitted to the county jail. But not, it seems, 
for long. The Earl of Insiquin and suite 
being quartered at Farmbridge, near Cashel, 
are surprised one morning by the appearance 
of a man u almost stark-naked, without cloak 
or coat, only a pair of breeches with many 
patches, and a shirt suitable to be worn with 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 153 

such breeches." This individual reveals him- 
self to be Major Clancie, on hearing which, 
we are told, my lords and gentlemen were 
seized with u such a fit of merriment and 
laughter that some were obliged to leave the 
room." When their laughter had subsided, 
the object of it presented a petition, in 
which it was plausibly set forth, how that 
he had come "to wait upon his lordship," 
but had been robbed on the way ; how that 
if his lordship would "give him a pass to 
Limerick where he means to recruit himself, 
he would return to wait upon his lordship in 
this expedition." His lordship, whose ignor- 
ance as to the character of his visitor, was 
bliss, indeed, believed every word of his tale, 
and readily acceded to his request. Where- 
upon the major rode into Limerick in triumph, 
and those who would have apprehended him, 
on seeing his pass, " were glad to let him 
alone." 

Our hero now adopted a dodge which has 
served the purpose of many a scoundrel both 

h 5 



154 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

before and since. He pretended to be pious ! 
He is a regular attendant at church ; he re- 
solves to shun all occasions of temptation lest 
(poor fellow !) u his frailty might be wrought 
upon." 

A certain Mr. Fanning a commissioner of 
the revenue, is so taken with him, that he 
asks him to his house — that house — where 
u he should have the absolute command of 
all ! ! ! " Now it chanced that Mr. Fanning 
owed £100 to a Mr. O'Brien — a neighbour of 
his — but such is his fondness for the major, 
that he must needs be present at the payment 
to see that all is fair. A servant mean- 
while, is ordered to follow them with the 
hundred pounds. As they ride along the 
major observes that the servant is delaying 
on the road. Accordingly, he slackens his 
pace, and waits for him, and telling him that 
Mr. Fanning has sent him (the major) back, 
with orders for him to return to Limerick at 
once, and then to search in his closet for 
twenty pounds in gold, which were to be 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 155 

brought back for Mr. O'Brien ; that he was 
likewise to deliver to him (the major) the 
hundred pounds which he had " that he may 
come the sooner to Mr. O'Brien's house 
where they all expect him." The servant 
u being very well satisfied that all is true that 
comes from the Major," does as he is bid; 
rides back as hard as he can, goes upstairs to 
his master's room, and finds the cupboard 
empty ! Back again he rides in hot haste to 
Mr. O'Brien, where the following scene 
occurs: — 

" Where is my hundred pounds ?" asks 
Mr. Fanning. 

u Truly, sir, I gave it to Major Clancie, 
according to the orders he brought me." 

" But where is the Major with the money ?" 
asks Mr. Fanning. 

" How can I tell, sir, that never saw him 
since ? but sure I am, my heart is broke." 

u Thy heart broke, villain ; where is my 
money," thunders his angry master, to which 
he could have no other answer but " that the 



156 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Major had it who, it seems, is gone about his 
own affairs." 

Six months after this Mr. Fanning spied 
the Major coming along the road to Cork and 
gave him chase. He was successful, and in 
spite of the major's urgent entreaties had him 
safely lodged in the Limerick prison. Here 
his treatment was rigorous enough. " Hard- 
ships and pain reduced him to the most 
lamentable spectacle in the world; nothing 
but skin and bones ; his eyes sunk, his lips 
dried up, his jaw bone ready to pierce the 
skin ; a direct anatomy or perfect ghost." 
The Uriah Heep and Littimer dodge served 
him admirably now. The chaplain was 
charmed with him, and told the Commissioners 
that he had seen one M of the wonders of the 
world ;" one who had not his fellow for true 
penitency and perfect devotion. The Com- 
missioners requested to see this paragon. 
Clancie was accordingly brought before them, 
and on that occasion he regaled their ears with 
a speech which even Uriah Heep could never 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 157 

have surpassed. His eloquence procured him 
a ticket-of-leave. Once out of prison he is 
taken under the wing of the credulous chap- 
lain, by whom he is placed in a monastery. 
Here his devotion knows no bounds. He re- 
gularly observes the fasts — he is for ever 
doing penance — to such an extent, indeed, 
that " Father Guardian is sometimes dis- 
appointed of his rest by the continual exercise 
of mortification practised by Brother Clancie, 
who every night pulls off his habit and rolls 
himself on the cold ground, and whenever he 
hears the cock crow falls a whipping his 
naked body," until the good father is fain 
to assure him that " to preserve himself were 
it but for example would do much more 
acceptable service to God than to make him- 
self away." By this time the penitent Major 
began to have some little knowledge of his 
whereabouts. He had observed, among other 
things, that there was a small stock of money 
in the keeping of Brother Spencer, which had 
been amassed together for the use of the monas- 



158 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

tery. With this knowledge he goes to Brother 
Spencer while his patron (Father Delahyde) 
is absent, and tells him that " Father Dela- 
hyde being with the Commissioners they had 
promised to do them a service, which was to 
employ their own servants to the fair of 
Mollengare to buy lean cattle for the winter 
provision, and to give them grass till they 
were fit to be eaten ; to which end the father 
has sent him for the money to deliver to the 
Commissioners. Brother Spencer believing 
this to be true, delivers the money (some three- 
score pounds) into his hands, which he no 
sooner has than he carries it to a private 
lodging, puts on his other clothes, and " bids 
adieu to Father Delahyde and all the rest of 
his dearly beloved brother-friars." By-and- 
by back comes Father Delahyde and inquires 
for Clancie. Brother Spencer replies that he 
has not seen him since he gave him the money 
for the cattle. 

"What cattle ?" asks Father Delahyde. 

The brother explains. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 159 

cc And do you not know where he is ?" 

" No, in good faith, not I." 

a Why, then, I am afraid we are all un- 
done," cries the father. Which indeed they 
were. 

Our hero conceiving it " not safe for him 
to make any stay in them parts (sic) where he 
lately played so many pranks," adjourned to 
Cork. Here we find him beseeching a friend 
4t with whom he had some small acquaintance/ ' 
to ask the governor for an order to transport 
him, the Major, and certain gentlemen who 
dwelt in the adjacent mountains, and who, he 
said, could not but be troublesome to the 
governor and his quarters. Clancie obtains 
an interview with the governor, and under- 
takes to promise that his men will give no 
further trouble on condition of receiving " a 
free quarter during their stay, a good ship, 
manned and victualled, and money in their 
purses." Having obtained these he is off to 
the mountains. He meets with some op- 
position at first, but on presenting a the 



160 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

articles " the mountaineers salute Him " cap- 
tain/* and agree to follow him wheresoever 
he list. Thus things went on smoothly enough 
till they got to Flanders. Then it is that 
some of them demand their share of the 
money which had been given for their use. 
Whereupon the a captain " coolly tells them 
that " it is given for his own use and not 
theirs.'' u But they, not satisfied with this 
answer, resolved to have it out of his bones, 
so that he was glad to get from them by 
stealth and leave his troops to shift for their 
living." 

The Major's next adventure was based on 
une affaire du cceur with a very rich widow. 
This lady he addressed with his usual elo- 
quence, but she, with becoming modesty, told 
him that she u never doubted nor disbelieved 
him, but that she had no inclination to change 
her condition." With a perception which 
did him credit, the Major took this answer 
for an " encouragement to come again," 
" which he often did," we are informed, 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 161 

" without invitation." Falling in with some 
Irish acquaintances he lets them into the 
secret and borrows of them £40 — for his 
wedding trousseaux. Whereupon he quits 
his lodgings, his widow, and his Irish ac- 
quaintances, and comes straight to London. 
u At a place called Nell's Ordinary, which 
there was a great resort to," he overhears a 
gentleman ask his friend if he knew of any- 
one to whom he might safely entrust his 
money while he was in France. The daunt- 
less Major forthwith invites them to dinner, 
and as they warm over the wine, offers him- 
self for the post of trustee, u for," says he, 
" the Earl of Insiquin will pay you on sight 
of my bill." And with a charming naivete 
the gentleman pays up his £200. Unfor- 
tunately the Major is not quite quick enough 
this time. This gentleman goes off to Lord 
Insiquin, finds out the hoax, and, riding post 
haste back to town, delivers the unconscious 
sharper into the hands of the Bailiffs. Dur- 
ing his imprisonment he writes to the 



162 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

daughter of the Earl of Towmond, and en- 
treats permission to see her ladyship's con- 
fessor, " it being the greatest concern of his 
soul." No sooner does the poor priest arrive 
than he turns his " confession " into a threat 
of informing against him (his presence being 
contrary to prison rules) if he did not supply 
him with money. By which means he got 
£50 out of her ladyship's exchequer. 

We next hear of the Major u at a place 
called Viena," in Italy. At his hotel in 
Viena he becomes acquainted with a gen- 
tleman named Gerardo — a gentleman's u gen- 
tleman," in short, of the Prince of Tuskaine. 
In the course of their conversation, Clancie 
happens to ask him if he had " lately heard 
of the King of England, or knew any one of 
that court." Gerardo replies by an allusion 
to the " constancy, loyalty, and fidelity," of 
the Lord of Ormond, " of whom," says he, 
M my master has given such characters as are 
not to be parallelled." Upon which, the 
Major, with an assumption of the greatest 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 163 

humility, avows himself the Lord of Ormond, 
though " a little pincht " in circumstances, 
and entreats his friend to acquaint the prince 
that he begs it as a favour he will not trouble 
himself to see him. Of course, Gerardo ac- 
quaints the prince with everything. And the 
prince thereunto commands Gerardo to " go 
back to my lord, and carry him three hundred 
pounds, and tell him he shall have as much 
more as he pleases, and that there was not 
that thing in the world within the reach of 
the prince but he should command." 

Gerardo returns to the supposed Lord of 
Ormond, who receives him with a great deal 
of cheerfulness and large promises of reward, 
" engaging him to express to the prince how 
feelingly sensible he is of this great favour 
thus so seasonably placed upon him." And 
on the major's leaving the hotel, the landlord 
" appears with a sad countenance, to think of 
parting with the best guest that ever he had. " 

Our hero returns to England just in time to 
celebrate the restoration of King Charles II. 



164 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

He appears " richly aparrelled, and very well 
attended," and proceeds to take some 
rooms in the most fashionable part of the 
town. He has not been very long in these 
quarters before his landlord becomes terribly 
jealous of his attentions to the landlady. 
Boniface is determined, however, to make sure 
whether his wife keeps the major in counten- 
ance, and accordingly informs her of his resolu- 
tion. That resolution is to find out the major's 
new haunts, for he has left their house, having 
numerous debts still standing in his name, 
and arrest him that very night. Like a true 
woman she applauds her spouse's intentions — 
to his face, and directly his back is turned 
writes off a timely warning to the major. The 
bailiffs execute their orders to the letter, and 
finding their intended victim (as they suppose) 
in bed, they proceed to administer to him the 
soundest thrashing that a man ever received. 
The noise arouses the neighbours, and among 
them the landlord himself, who, on coming up, 
perceives to his horror that his victim is " not 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 165 

Clancie, but Birmingham." Then ensues a 
scene. The landlord begs pardon for the mistake . 
Mr. B. is not so easily satisfied — " To break 
my head and face, to tear my hair and clothes, 
to thrust my bedclothes through with naked 
swords, and piercing my skin, and all this for 
nothing, but under colour of mistake!" So 
that the landlord is obliged to heal his wounds 
with a salve of fifty pounds. In the meantime 
the major had been safely ensconced in the 
room of Mrs. Landlord, from which he only 
emerged, when the husband returned, u to 
make himself merry with his friend Birming- 
ham.'' 

Some of the major's subsequent adventures 
with the bailiffs are very amusing. " One day 
espying a bailiff from his window, seated on 
the stall of a cutler's shop, he sends a 
message to the boy in the shop, who happens to 
be knocking in some nails, to knock a nail or 
two (by mistake ?) into the coat-tails of 
the bailiff. This, on receipt of a crown- 
piece, the boy proceeded to do. As soon as 



166 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

the last nail is driven in, the major, who had 
been watching the sport from above, comes 
down to take the coach. Up starts the 
bailiff simultaneously, and then, down come 
stall, hammer, nail-boxes, making such a 
clatter that the fellow was frightened out of 
his wits, thinking the devil had been at his 
back." 

Another time he meets a creditor who begs 
of him to name a day when he shall discharge 
a debt of some months' standing. To which 
the major makes answer that he shall be 
able to do so very soon, as he expects a sup- 
ply from his uncle — the Bishop of London ! 
Curiously enough, the bishop's coach happens 
to be passing at the same moment. Per- 
ceiving this, the major rushes up to the coach, 
bidding his friend keep a little distance off. 
The major then explains to the bishop how 
that he has a sceptical friend whose wish it 
is to have his doubts cleared up (if possible) 
by so eminent a Defender of the Faith as his 
lordship. The bishop gladly undertakes the 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 167 

task, and beckoning to the friend to come 
up, assures him that " if he would call at his 
residence at ten o'clock on the morrow, he 
would satisfy him.'' So delighted is the 
creditor at this intelligence that he forthwith 
lends the major £50 more, in hopes to have 
it repaid with the other fifty by the bishop 
next day. On the following morning the 
creditor comes by appointment. The bishop 
receives him very courteously, and bids him 
u speak his mind and conceal nothing that 
troubled him ;" which he did, and giving his 
thanks to the bishop, falls a telling a long 
story how that he had lent his nephew fifty 
pounds some months since, and yesterday, 
fifty more, on his lordship's promise to satisfy 
that debt by the hour of ten of the clock. 
Whereto the bishop, astounded beyond 
measure, replies, " 'Twas not for payment of 
money, but to endeavour your satisfaction 
another way, by removing doubts of con- 
science in points of religion — that was my 
promise, and that I am still ready to perform, 



168 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

and nothing else. And," says the bishop, 
adding insult to injury, " I believe it to be a 
contrivance between the other man and you, 
to cheat me out of my money." At which 
the creditor waxes very wrath, and resolves 
to petition the king as to how he should 
obtain reparation. The king appoints the 
Duke of Ormonde arbitrator, and the duke's 
decision is to the effect that the first fifty is 
irrecoverable, but that the second fifty must 
be paid by his lordship the bishop — a decision 
which seems to have had the misfortune of 
being equally offensive to both parties. Our 
hero now begins to feel how, by his long- 
continued mal-practices, he has brought him- 
self to that pass that few or none will anear 
him. He determines therefore on seeking 
the distant city of Chester, but is wind-driven 
into Beaumoris, in Wales. He has not been 
here long ere there arrives a lady from 
London who is bound for Ireland. The gal- 
lant major sends her word by one of his 
servants that there is the ship he came in at 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 169 

her disposal if she liked to make use of it. 
The lady desires that the major will come to 
her room and " enter more into particulars." 
You may easily believe the major would lose 
no time to obey the commands of a fair lady, 
and so he went, and, from all accounts, a very 
pleasant evening they spent together. Next 
day, " the wind being cross," the lady did not 
start, nor the day after that. But though the 
wind continued cross, the major became very 
agreeable, and many more pleasant evenings 
were accordingly spent. At length the major 
came to the point, and declared his love. 
The lady blushed and simpered a little at 
first, but the major had such a wheedling 
way that the tender-hearted lady was forced 
to yield. And, to cut a long story short, 
" marriage was consummated to the unspeak- 
able comfort and consolation of both." But 
then, as the biographer adds, with some 
degree of sarcasm, u This siege held about 
six days, to the expense of many bottles at 
the charge of the major, whose whole study 



170 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

is how to reimburse himself by the help of 
his lady, whose little stock of money, with a 
considerable parcel of jewels, are most wil- 
lingly delivered as a marriage-portion to the 
major." Having secured the " dust," the 
major next devises a plan for ridding himself 
of his wife. One day he concocts a letter 
from the Earl of Car bury desiring him to 
make all haste thither, " for the prevention of 
his own harm, which must unavoidably 
follow if he delay." And this letter he has 
brought to him as if it were genuine. 
Amidst the tears of his wife " he takes his 
leave," giving her all the assurance imagina- 
ble, as well of his constancy as of his speedy 
return. In the interim he leaves her the 
box where her jewels (once) lay, "making 
her believe he had removed none— when, in 
truth, he had left none." 

It is needless to say that the poor woman 
never saw either her husband or her jewels 
afterwards. 

After this redoubtable exploit we hear little 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 171 

more of Major Clancie. His end, like that of 
most of your rollicking blades, was crowned 
with ignominy. He perceived that " most 
men began to forsake him, being in a low 
condition, whereby he was necessitated to play 
at small games.' ' Having contracted an alli- 
ance with a " very ordinary plain woman," he 
one day entreated her to give him some token 
of her affection. 

" I have nothing in the world but this 
ring," says she, and immediately pulls it off. 
Which he had no sooner secured than " he 
conveys himself away, leaving his wife to pay 
the reckoning, which she was forced to pawn 
her clothes for." 

Shortly after he was apprehended, and at 
the instance of his lady conveyed to Newgate, 
from which sweet seclusion we are informed 
that he did not emerge until called upon to 
take a prominent part in a highly interesting 
ceremony which was to be performed at 
Tyburn. 



172 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



A VERY UNFASHIONABLE 
PROMENADE. 



It is, in point of fact, a very unfashionable 
promenade, You see, it is such a long way 
off from everything else. So far removed from 
Buckingham Palace, from the Horse Guards, 
from the clubs, from the squares, from Rotten 
Row, from the Pantheon Bazaar, from the 
Italian Opera House, from St. George's 
Church, from Almack's, from Verrey's Res- 
taurant, from Madame Rachel's Enamelling 
Rooms, from all that savoureth of the beau 
monde, of Jiaut ton, and of " good society." 
Postally considered it is situated not in the 
district W., not in the stately S.W., not even 
in the less pretentious N.W. In fact it isn't 
westward ho ! at ail. It is right at the other 
end of the compass. Supposing you take a 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 173 

cab, let us say at the General Post Office, you 
rattle down Aldersgate Street, dash along that 
of Goswell, turning smartly round into Old 
Street. You pass Bunhill Row, with its 
burial ground, sacred to the memories of 
Bunyan — under whose guidance we have so 
often followed the Christian pilgrim's steps; 
Defoe, biographer of those well-remembered 
friends of our boyhood, Crusoe and his faith- 
ful Friday ; Watts, with whom we became 
acquainted even earlier; and many other 
gentle and pious souls gone from among us to 
their last long home. Continuing your course 
along the Old Street Road, you pass Shore- 
ditch Church. Here too " God's acre " is 
fraught with fruitful recollections, but this 
time not of preachers, not of novelists, but of 
"poor players;" Will Somers, Jester to bluff 
King Hal, Tarlton Clown in the days of 
Shakspeare, and anent whose mirth-provok- 
ing visage the epitaph is written — 

*' Hsec situs est cujus poterat vox, actio, vultus, 
Ex Heraclito reddere Democritum;" 



174 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

Burbage and others who were among the first 
to personate the great bard's creations. 

On again, through the seemingly intermin- 
able Hackney Eoad, by Prospect Eoad, 
through Bishop's Eoad, and then — then it is 
that we arrive at that most unfashionable of 
promenades — the Victoria Park. On entering 
this park you will observe that it is extensive 
— not perhaps so extensive as its more aristo- 
cratic sisters of the west — and that it is laid 
out with consummate taste. Winding paths 
surrounded on either side by beds of vari- 
coloured and sweet-scented flowers intersect 
the turf in every direction, and in the midst 
there is a sheet of water, spanned by a hand- 
some bridge, and filled with water-fowl of the 
rarest kinds. The habitues of this park are 
numerous if not select. They are not much 
given to equestrianism, certainly, still less are 
they in the habit of being borne luxuriously 
along in carriages richly padded within and 
gorgeously emblazoned without. They are of 
the unfashionable classes — don't you under- 






SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 175 

stand — they are of that class which doesn't 
buy its coats at Pool's or its bonnets at 
Brandon's, which has to live from hand to 
mouth — by the sweat of the brow ; weavers 
from the neighbouring looms of Spitalfields 
and of Bethnal Green — grim and sooty 
artiz ans — seamp stresses 

" Lean and weary and wan 
With only their ghosts of garments on, 
Every soul — child, woman, or man, 
That lives or dies by labour " — 

who have left the dingy work-rooms, and 
their own much dingier, drearier homes, and 
come to have a look at the bright flowers, and 
stretch their cramped limbs a bit, and refresh 
their weary bodies with a breath of God's 
pure air. 

On one of the seats, beneath a shady tree, 
an old man rests his weary frame. He is a 
very old man, his hair is quite white, and his 
eyes are weak and dim. Yet there are hope 
and faith, love, and tenderness stamped on 
every feature of his venerable countenance. 



176 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

" And blest is he o'er whose decline, 
The smiles of hope may soothing shine, 
And light him down the steep of years." 

His earthly course is nearly run — his 
labours are fast drawing to a close. He has 
served a long and weary time of it ; but he has 
been truthful and honest through it all. He 
has never swerved from the paths of virtue. 
The end will soon come, but he looks to it 
humbly, resignedly, and without fear. In 
pious resignation he awaits the day when he 
shall be summoned hence to that brighter and 
better land u where, the wicked cease from 
troubling, and the weary are at rest." 

Passing by me at this moment are a young 
married couple. A poorly clad young couple 
enough, and yet how cheerful and contented. 
True, they have their sorrows — bitter sorrows 
— true, they find life a hard and uphill 
struggle. But then methinks it is this mutual 
participation in each other's sorrows which 
endears them one to the other — which lightens 
their heaviest burdens, and consoles them 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 177 

under their deepest and bitterest afflictions. 
Watch them now ! How tenderly he bends 
over her as he points out the beauty of some 
flower, or directs her attention to the glow of 
the sunset on the mighty city. How pleased 
he looks when a smile irradiates her wan pale 
cheek, and recals for an instant, though only 
for an instant, some faint trace of her former 
beauty — the beauty of her earlier years and 
before starvation had done its deadly work. 

What a lesson may we learn from the pa- 
tient endurance, the cheerful content of these 
poor people ! What though there are 
many who are gone astray, many who are 
outcasts, reprobate, and degraded. Think of 
the temptations "to which ours are as 
breezes which woo to storms which tumble 
towers/' which they have undergone, of the 
close unwholesome dens in which they drag 
out their wretched lives, of the fierce hunger 
which prey, upon them daily, of the cares and 
sicknesses and anxieties to which they are 
exposed, of the hope of better days which 

i 5 



178 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

lights up their poor lives with its delusive 
glare, and of the dull and blank despair 
succeeding it. 

And, oh, my brothers, my brothers, which 
of us shall stand forth in his untried virtue 
and say that under like disadvantages he 
would not have fallen too ? 

Children are to be found in the park in. 
abundance. They are not rosy cheeked chil- 
dren by any means — not the bright-eyed, 
laughing cherubs that form the especial 
delight of young ladies of twenty or there- 
abouts, and the particular aversion of young 
gentlemen of ten or thereabouts — that we 
read of in Mr. W. Bennett's graceful lyrics 
and see personified blowing trumpets on an- 
tiquated tombstones. 

These children have sickly little faces, at- 
tenuated little bodies. Some of them, alas ! 
crooked, stunted, crippled little limbs. Some 
of them have got old before their time, and 
have acquired an old man's expression upon 
their countenances, which would be irresisti- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 179 

bly comical were it not, alas ! most painful to 
behold. The sturdiest of them, however, 
make great use of their play -ground. They 
drive their hoops, they chase one another in 
and out the avenues, or play hide and seek 
behind the trees, or u Touchwood " (is not 
that the name of the game which delighted 
the infancy of the mature individual who 
pens these lines — and which he believes to 
be still existing) or in short — anything else 
that affords scope for shouting and romping 
and getting out of breath. 

The feebler children take great delight in 
feeding the ducks. They will stand behind 
the railings in front of the pond and throw 
in tempting morsels of bread, or biscuit, or 
apple (for all these dainties are procurable at 
a stall in the park) — sometimes the birds will 
turn contemptuously from the proffered gifts, 
and then the disappointment is great, but 
when this is not the case, and they come 
quacking to the pond's edge and open their 



180 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

wide bills as if mutely " asking for more," 
there is such a crowing of delight, and such 
a clapping of little hands, and a stamping of 
little feet as does one good to hear. 

At five o'clock the park-keeper, a splendid 
creature in laces and what-nots, and quite 
equal in appearance to his brethren of the 
west, sallies forth from his lodge and gives 
notice to everyone whom he meets that it is 
time to withdraw. His seems a task of no 
small difficulty at first, for the attractions are 
great here and little enough elsewhere, God 
knows ; but at length the stragglers are ga- 
thered in, the park is cleared, and the ducks 
are left once more to their undisturbed- seclu- 
sion. 

By the latest statistics I am informed 
firstly, that this park has added to the health 
of over 500,000 people ; and secondly, that 
Parliament granted no less than £100,000 to 
defray its expenses. We are aware that that 
august assembly is in the habit of expending 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 181 

the public monies pretty freely ; but never, 
in my opinion, was any grant applied to a 
better purpose than this, and shame say I be 
to that economist who would have grudged a 
penny. 



182 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 



DO YOU OBJECT TO SMOKING? 



Perhaps few men have ever attained to a 
greater notoriety than Sir Walter Kaleigh. 
And this not so much by his " History of the 
World," instructive, as no doubt that porten- 
tous volume may be to those who live long 
enough to get through it, as by his introduc- 
tion into this country of the practice of smok- 
ing. It was in vain that he got soused by his 
own domestic while indulging in a dreamy 
reverie amid the fumes. It was in vain that 
his royal master, James, of pedantic memory, 
blew out an awful " counterblast " and 
branded the finest brands with the classic 
appellation of u a precious stink." It is to 
little purpose that sage and sapient doctors 
put in their veto on the noxious plant, and 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 183 

throw out mysterious hints about its nicotine 
and its empyreumatic oil, and poisoned sys- 
tems, and the retention of alkaloid in the 
tissues, or threaten us with the encouraging 
prospect of nausea, tremulousness of the 
muscles, excessive perspiration, palpitation of 
the heart, and angina pectoris, if we continue 
in its use. It is to little purpose that a worthy 
ecclesiastic has been found to anathematize it 
as a u gorging fiend ; " that excellent gentle- 
men write tracts, with the alarming titles of 
" The Murderer and his Meerschaum, " or, 
"Hell and Havannahs;" that ladies hurl 
their fulminations at what they are pleased to 
call " that filthy habit ; " that university 
dons have concocted a statute solely and 
entirely to forbid the use of the " herba 
nicotiana sive " tobacco — as they add, for fear 
(alas ! for the confession), that their Latinity 
should be unintelligible ! Spite of doctors, 
ecclesiastics, dons, and ladies, patients will be 
rebellious, congregations sceptical, lords 
and masters claim their right of supremacy, 



184 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

and naughty undergrads will laugh statutes 
to scorn. The weed will not be " put down." 
It defies the Alderman Cutes of the opposi- 
tion, and rears its head — its "negro head," 
let us say — and, like the mythologic monster 
of old, comes out the stronger under every 
blow. It is in the nature of man to go on 
smoking, and chewing, and snuffing. " It 
clears the brain and makes me think," is the 
excuse of one, a mathematician, who is intent 
on the integral calculus. " It soothes the 
nerves, and induces sleep," says another, a 
commercial clerk, as he returns home after a 
long day's grind over the Stocks and the 
Three per Cents. 

" It is something to do," mutters a third. 

Not a very valid reason, this, I think. 

" It cures the toothache," pleads a fourth 
— -which has more in it certainly, though, 
crede exjgerto^ I have found it a decided 
failure. Be the reasons, however, what they 
may, there is no doubt that the practice is 
universally prevalent ; that there is not the 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 185 

smallest chance of its being on the decline, 
and that it is one in which all classes alike 
are interested — all from the dandy, with his 
perfumed cigarette, to the workman with his 
humble " clay." 

For these reasons, if for no other, the manu- 
facture of tobacco is a subject which deserves 
a very considerable share of our attention. 

Nor is this weed-worship confined to our 
country alone. It is cosmopolitan, and various 
are the ways in which its votaries offer up 
their adoration. 

What Paddy could exist without that par- 
ticular snuff to which he has affixed a name 
more expressive than polite ? And as for 
our Northern neighbours there is a story cur- 
rent of a sermon to which certain of a clan 
were patient listeners enow up to the time 
that their mulls became empty. 

The German student makes quite a friend 
of his pipe, with its long cherry-wood stem 
and deep china bowl. He is wont, I believe, 
to employ its agency in his metaphysical 



186 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

pursuits, though the blooming young lady 
(not too much dressed) who invariably adorns 
the bowl looks material enough in all con- 
science and is anything but an "abstraction." 
Then there is the American who chews 
the weed — a custom upon which with its 
expectorating accompaniment the Author of 
the " Notes/' is especially severe ; and then 
there are the Turks who luxuriously inhale it 
lolling on a cushion in the midst of their 
admiring Sultanas. Perhaps, however, there 
is no nation in the world which is so addicted 
to its use as the French. At the cafe" in 
the morning, on the Boulevards at noon, in 
the casino at night you will hardly ever see 
a Frenchman without a cigar in his mouth. 
Whether or not this has a deteriorating effect, 
or whether or not it leads to drinking (though 
for that matter our neighbours seldom indulge 
in anything stronger than lemonade), are be- 
side the question. There is no doubt of the 
fact — that the French are prodigious smokers. 
And therefore it is that there is scarcely any 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 187 

place where the manufacture of tobacco is 
carried on on a greater scale than at the Im- 
perial Manufactory of Paris. 

The plant, it should be observed, is ex- 
tremely delicate and has to be treated as an 
exotic. A single frost would destroy a whole 
crop. A fine plant, it is said, should have 
nearly a dozen leaves and a stem nearly six 
feet high ; their colour at the time of gather- 
ing should be yellow and their appearance 
rough. They are then left to dry for a day, 
then covered up to sweat for three or four, 
and then dried again. When quite dry this 
process is repeated. Apparently it cannot 
be repeated too often, as a medical authority 
has stated in the following opinion : " The 
great superiority/ ' he observes, " of the best 
Havannah cigars depends not only upon the 
fine quality of the leaf used to make them, 
but also on the perfection of the rolling ; but, 
above all, on the completeness of the drying. 
The best of these cigars are those which have 
been kept for some time in a sufficiently warm 



188 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

temperature to dry them very completely."* 
When this end is attained they are tied toge- 
ther in bundles of a dozen each, placed in 
casks, pressed in by a powerful lever, and so 
transported to their destination. The first 
court into which we are ushered in the Pari- 
sian Manufactory is devoted to the purposes 
of undoing, laying out, and moistening of the 
leaf. This moisture is effected by means of 
a solution of salt applied for the two-fold 
purpose of assisting fermentation and pre- 
venting putrescence. The leaves that have 
been soaking for a day are denuded of their 
stalks and the blades separated. This branch 
of the business is carried on by women, who 
here, as in the railway stations, are provided 
with a profitable employment in a manner 
which would rejoice the heart of Miss Faith- 
full herself. The engine-room comes next in 
order. The engine — a mighty implement 
of 140 horse power — acts upon the whole of 



* This extract is taken from an article in the Cornhill Magazine 
(for November, 1862), Volume VI, number 35, page 610. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 189 

the adjacent machinery. Near at hand are 
a series of cutting-machines so contrived as 
to shave off into very thin sheets the leaves 
which men have been pressing into it from 
behind, and disgorge each, as it cuts, into a 
trough below. The produce is tobacco — but 
tobacco that is moist and unwholesome. To 
remedy this it is brought over to a drying 
machine. This consists of a number of heated 
brass channels, the warmth being equally 
distributed over the whole surface. From 
thence it is taken to another machine formed of 
linen screens—the whole operation of drying 
lasting about half-an-hour. Tobacco in this 
condition is ready for smoking, The manu- 
facture of snuff appears to be more compli- 
cated. We find a series of mills fed by gullets 
from above, and depending wholly on the 
movement of a main horizontal shaft. This 
shaft turns a number of "excentrics" which 
are attached by straps to levers, and so pro- 
motes an alternate circular motion of the 
mill-shafts. The snuff thus made is ejected 



190 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

upon a canvass moving on rollers, borne on 
to sieves, sifted, and cast into the troughs 
below. This is snuff de la premiere qualitL 
This is for the pouncet-box of Monseigneur, 
laced and ruffled, in the gardens of Versailles. 
In the meanwhile that of a coarser nature is 
carried away to a pit and on through flannels 
connected with the gullets whence it first 
passed to the mills beneath. And all this 
by a wondrous piece of mechanism, all this 
laborious process for the mortification or de- 
lectation of our sensitive nostrils. The cigars 
are made — as Pip was brought up — u by 
hand," and oh ! ye gallant gentlemen ! by 
the hand of lovely woman. The poet Gold- 
smith bewails the occasions on which lovely 
woman stoops to folly. Let us hope 
that he didn't include the making of 
cigars as one of them. To be sure, these 
women are not very lovely — they are 
pale and careworn —their eyes are dim — 
they stoop, and their hands are large and 
hard. And how should it be otherwise? 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 191 

Bough, work will roughen the smoothest skin, 
and close rooms make havoc with the best 
complexions ! And there they sit, patient 
creatures, day after day, some five hundred 
of them, rolling the leaf, cutting it into 
orthodox form, and finally screwing up the 
end with the assistance of a little grease, into 
that elegant sugar-loaf point which con- 
noisseurs prize so highly. So quickly done, 
and so nattily ! Nimble fingers always 
plying ; now pulling out the tangled shreds, 
now rolling, now plastering, now cutting off 
the jaggs, now putting the final touch; quick 
and rapid work, in truth, but so dull and 
dreary and monotonous, as a few minutes 
inspection may show the most unobservant. 
Again, and a coarser business greets the 
eye — the manufacture of the roll tobacco, the 
stuff that is supplied to seamen — the a quids," 
without which a Jolly Jack tar would not be 
jolly at all, and bereft of which Mr. T. P. 
Cooke would infallibly have failed to u draw 
a house." In the centre of the two rooms in 



192 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

which this part of the business is conducted 
are a number of wheels to all intents and 
purposes similar to those used for spinning. 
Attached to these wheels are benches upon 
which men place the leaves smooth and open ; 
these are followed up by others who roll 
them up into the form of a cord, and as each 
tail is finished, it is wound upon the wheels. 
Subsequently it is twisted into a ball and 
darkened by a dye of tobacco water. Around 
these rooms are coil upon coil of these rolls, 
stamped and labelled, and looking for all the 
world like colossal cheeses. The wonderful 
agility with which the workmen force the 
required amount of tobacco into its due com- 
pass, pack, and label them, excited my 
greatest admiration. 

How profitable such an establishment must 
be, may be gathered from the fact that nearly 
two thousand persons are employed, consis- 
ting of men, women, and boys, the former 
earning from three francs to three-and-a-half 
per diem, the latter from two to two-and-a- 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 193 

half; that there are no less than ten establish- 
ments of the kind in France, all of them 
dependant on this, that the value of this alone 
is set down at one hundred and ninety-one 
thousand pounds, in which estimate the plant 
(including machinery and tools) represents 
over one eighth, and that, with these ex- 
penses to meet, an annual increase is added 
to the revenue of more than three million 
English pounds ! 

Such being the admitted facts, it may be 
worth while considering how far discussion 
will avail. At any rate it will be worth 
while reflecting whether it would not be 
wiser for those who do not chew Cavendish 
to eschew controversy, and for the disputants 
in general to smoke the pipe of peace over a 
pipe of bird's-eye. 



194 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 



AT THE GENERAL POST OFFICE. 



I am not a graphiologist. I don't profess 
to be able to tell the character by hand- 
writing, though for that matter I have had 
my own told and have, in consequence, con- 
sidered myself a better if not a wiser man than 
I ever thought myself before. Still less am 
I a phrenologist. I have read little or 
nothing of Lavater. I couldn't for the life 
of me say whether a man was a murderer or 
a philosopher, a Shakspeare or the Lancashire 
Idiot, by merely observing his pericranium. 
Yet there is a study to which I am given, which 
is to my mind equally as interesting and quite 
as satisfactory as either of the former. The 
scene of my speculations is the General Post 
Office, in St. Martin' s-le-Grand, the subjects 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 195 

thereof are the people who make use of its 
letter-boxes, and the results will be duly made 
known in the following paper. As I was 
engaged in these pursuits the other evening 
one of the first persons who passed me was 
an old lady — attired rather flashily than ele- 
gantly — and bearing a monster umbrella, but 
with a merry round face withal that atoned 
for everything. This old lady is evidently a 
country cousin, and has come up to town by 
a cheap excursion in order to see as much of 
it as she can in ten days. I told you so, she 
has just dropped a portly missive into the 
u letters " for the country department. That 
letter is addressed to her niece in Muddleshire, 
and contains a flaming account of her first 
day's exploits. For she has made the most 
of her time, depend upon it ; of course she 
has eaten buns in the middle of the Strand, 
of course she has had her pocket picked while 
staring at " Punch," and of course she went 
a mile out of the way in a fruitless search for 
a policeman. But besides this she has " done " 

k 2 



196 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

a variety of things, things which people who 
live in London never think of " doing." She 
has been for instance to the Tower, " where 
them dear little princes was murdered and 
where that nasty beast, Clarence, drowned 
himself in a butt, of wine, and where lots 
o'things happened besides, but lawk o'mercy, 
my dear, your old aunt can't remember 'em, 
for she never was no schollard, thank good- 
ness ! ! !" She was particularly struck too 
with Queen Victoria's crown, " which, reely, 
now, looked so evvy that she felt thankful 
she warn't the Queen to wear it." From the 
Tower in all probability she adjourned to the 
Thames Tunnel, where her surprise at not 
getting wet was unbounded. From the Tun- 
nel, she took a 'bus to St. Paul's — there she 
inspected the clock which, from its size, she 
thought must be very inconvenient — the 
whispering gallery, which she disapproved of, 
as calculated to encourage talking in church, 
and all the other lions, though she was some- 
what scandalized, as well she might be, at 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 197 

having to pay three-arid-twopence for the 
sight. Her clay's adventures were brought 
to a close by a visit to the monument on Fish 
Street hill — having reached the summit of 
which in an exhausted state, it seemed such 
a way up she thought she never could get 
down again, " and reely, when the guide told 
her that it was a hawful place for suicides it 
put her in such a twitter that she didn't 
recover herself till she got home and had 
taken a wee drop of her ' patent medicine/ 
my dear." 

The old lady is followed up by a servant 
in gorgeous livery. The letter he bears is 
encased in a pink envelope and is strongly 
scented with patchouli. It is addressed to 
Miss Mary Turniptop, of Turniptop Hall, 
Yorkshire, and it comes from her sister 
Bessie, now on a visit to their cousin Lord 
Lofty, in Grosvenor Square. 

It is Miss Bessie's first visit to town, and 
she has been " gathering the rose-buds while 
she may " with no niggard hand. She has 



198 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

been to " such a charming ball at Almacks 
(she writes), and to such a delightful opera 
at her Majesty's, and she has had such plea- 
sant rides in Rotten Row, and such delicious 

flirtations with dear Captain , and she 

likes London so much." 

Ah ! dear young lady, you behold London 
Life through a West-end telescope — through 
rose-coloured glasses. You look on one side 
of the picture only — you know nothing of 
the other side — and perhaps it is as well you 
never should. 

After the footman comes a young gen- 
tleman dilapidated as to his dress and some- 
what rakish as to his general appearance. I 
fancy that my friend is a medical student. 
He has been " studying," I think, during the 
past year, and appears to have " studied " so 
uncommonly hard that he has forgotten to 
have his coat mended. I can easily tell what 
his letter is about. It is addressed to his 
father, a venerable old clergyman in Nor- 
folk. It probably states that " the nature of 



SKETCHES FROxM LIFE. 199 

his avocations" (one must gammon the 
governor a bit, as he observed to Tom Lar- 
ky ns the other day — or he'll never stump up) 
" having materially increased his expenditure, 
may he ask the favour of a farther remit- 
tance." 

No sooner is the young gentleman gone 
than a Frenchman pops a letter into the box 
labelled, u Foreign and Colonial." His 
epistle is addressed to his " cher ami Alphonse, 
of the Rue St. Honore," and is dated, you 
may be sure, from Leicester Square. Having 
spent some six weeks in that fashionable 
locality, he is, of course, fully competent to 
give his ami a pretty veracious account 
of les Anglais chez eux. " For, mon ami," 
saith his letter — " this is the square par 
excellence. There are other streets and 
squares, certainement, but it is here alone, 
vous comprenez, that you have the public 
buildings, the cafes, the restaurants, — it is 
here alone that all the world goes to prome- 
nade. Here is situate their grand theatre de 



200 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

1'Alhambra. At this theatre they have 
operatic performances, and ballets all the 
nights except Sundays — mais, mon ami, I 
cannot express to you how inferior, how very 
inferior they are to our own. Here, too, is 
locate one of their grand salons — clubs they 
call them — of whose grandeur you have heard 
so much. It is true the price of admission is 
reasonable, very reasonable ; for one penny 
deux sous — it is permitted you to read not 
only the journals of this country but also 
those of our own. But mon Dieu, the edifice 
is not grand ; it is not magnifique ; it is 
not sumptuous. Ah ! no, no ; you may take 
my word for it that in this, as in everything 
else, Jean Boule is one great big boastare I" 

To the same box comes a poor navvy with 
a letter to some old friend in Australia. His 
friend left the old country many years since, 
when wages were low and work was scarce. 
He sought his fortunes in the new world — 
the golden land — u the land flowing with milk 
and honey — the great, young,free, new world.'' 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 201 

He "grappled with his evil star" — he made 
his way, and he is a richer man now. Per- 
haps it would have been better for him to 
have taken his friend's advice and emigrated 
too. And yet, to some of us, "home is 
home, however homely," and there is an 
innate love of old associations, for the loss 
of which there is nothing which can fully 
compensate. 

The offerings at the " Town Department " 
are so numerous as to plunge one into the 
wildest speculation as to their contents. 
Hither comes a smart little page with an 
invitation- note from Miss Letitia Lightfoot, 
wherein u the pleasure of Miss Honoria Hop- 
pleton's company is requested to an evening 
party, on Thursday next, when the hour will 
be half-past eight, and the object will be — 
tom-foolery — I beg pardon, I mean torn- 
pke — mats c'est tout le meme chose, rHest pas ? 
Immediately following him is a messenger 
with some weighty despatch, on which per- 
haps depend matters of the gravest import. 

k 5 



202 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

There are letters and letters— various in pur- 
pose as in form. Who shall guess the histo- 
ries that are there — a histories," as witty 
Jerrold observed, " more deep, more touch- 
ing, than many on the shelves of libraries V 
Letters, silver-edged, bearing the glad tidings 
of a joyful marriage — a union of two happy 
beings — 

" Whom gentler stars unite and in one fate 

Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend," 

to one house ; letters, black-edged, about to 
fill a neighbouring hearth with woe and deso- 
lation. Then there are begging letters, writ- 
ten too often by scurvy impostors to entrap 
the weak-minded, crammed with fulsome flat- 
tery, or stuffed with sickening cant about the 
responsibilities of the person to whom they 
are addressed ; love letters, teeming with 
sighs and darts, and broken hearts, and all the 
other poetical absurdities of which the wisest 
men are guilty at certain periods of their 
lives; letters having the Royal Arms showily 
stamped on their envelopes, and which you 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 203 

find to be nothing more than invitations from 
Messrs. Cheaplot, Brothers, to visit their ex- 
tensive assortment of etcetera, etceteras; let- 
ters from grand ladies to poor governesses, 
stating not a whit too squeamishly the terms, 
salary, &c, which they are prepared to offer ; 
letters from the poor governesses to the grand 
ladies, signing in all humility the contract of 
their degradation ; letters from editors of 
magazines to the paid contributors, furiously 
demanding " copy ;" letters from the same to 
the voluntary contributors respectfully declin- 
ing their effusions (i.e., putting them into the 
fire), for want of space. Then there are 
Chesterfieldian letters, pompous and artificial 
both in style and matter; and then, as a 
sweet contrast, there are letters "gushing from 
the heart, simple, natural, and unstudied;" let- 
ters, too, from creditors, politely intimating 
that the day of payment has arrived ; and let- 
ters from debtors as politely rejoining that 
u they wish they may get it." 

Letters from " Victoria, greeting," to 



204 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

gentlemen, who (alas ! for their disloyalty) 
would far rather Victoria kept her " greet- 
ings" for her own family ; angry letters from 
individuals who address each other in terms 
of the bitterest hate, and yet, strange to say, 
have the honour to remain each other's most 
obedient servant. 

Another class of letters, and how numerous 
they are, are the slanderous letters. Foul 
lies, indited in the neatest of " hands," and on 
the creamiest of paper — by spiteful enemies, 
or 

Worse than foe, 
An alienated friend ; 

too frequently by those who are our own 
kith and kin — by those who should have been 
the last to attack us — the first to defend us 
from the breath of calumny. Letters in which, 
by a simple hint, by a trumpery insinuation, 
by the mere stroke of a pen, the purest char- 
acters, the noblest reputations have been and 
daily are irretrievably branded with an 
eternal infamy ! 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 205 

What will be the destiny of all these 
letters, I wonder? Statistically speaking, it is 
said that the average amount of letters deli- 
vered in a year amounts to 593,000,000. 

It is impossible that all these letters can 
reach their destination. We know that letters 
do miscarry even in the best regulated 
post offices ; but I think that if I could 
have my way, I would have all the bad 
ones sent to the dead letter office and there 
buried, with the evil thoughts that gave 
them birth. 



206 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



HOW TO BE A GENTLEMAN FOR 
SIXPENCE. 



What is a gentleman ? Of all questions 
that have been asked since the beginning 
of the world, none has been found so hard to 
answer as this. What is a gentleman ? I 
am aware that some five hundred years back 
one Wat Tyler was in the habit of asking 

"When Adam delved and Eve span — 
Who was then the gentleman ? 

But then he was a rude and rebellious black- 
smith, and, of course, knew nothing at all 
about the matter. 

We are taught in the syntax of our Latin 
grammar. 

Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes 
Emollit mores nee sinit esse feros — 

But that gives us no idea of what the 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 207 

44 ingenuas artes " may be. The 4C first 
gentleman in Europe " undoubtedly con- 
sidered that, among other things, the inven- 
tion of a shoe-buckle ought to be classed under 
this heading. Perhaps he might have thought 
that the cutting of old friends was not alto- 
gether inconsistent with the idea. Beau 
Brummell probably held opinions very 
similar to those of his royal master, until he 
was cut himself, and then he didn't seem to 
think that a little personality levelled at the 
head of his former patron was entirely out of 
place. In 44 Bleak House," to be sure, there 
is a " Model of gentlemanly deportment," 
who felt relieved that even 44 in these dege- 
nerate days, deportment was not wholly 
trodden under foot by mechanics." 

But then Mr. Turveydrop is a fictitious 
character. And I hardly know how far he is to 
be taken as an authority. Else I might be in- 
clined to attribute to him the authorship of a 
little book which lies before me, and which 
is in every way worthy of his gifted pen. 



208 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

This little book has the two-fold merit of 
being small and cheap. It has a title — 
though the author is anonymous — but I shall 
take leave to re-christen it, and to affix to it 
a designation which will, in my humble 
opinion, be infinitely more appropriate. I 
shall call it " How to be a Gentleman for 
Sixpence.' ' Yes, reader, for that infinitesimal 
coin has this benefactor of the world conde- 
scended to come down from the high position 
which he undoubtedly occupies in the 
fashionable sphere, in order to instruct us 
barbarians in all the arts and graces which 
go to make up a finished " gentleman.' • 

I should mention at the outset that the 
author has embellished his work with two 
remarkable illustrations — from a philanthropic 
desire, perhaps, that even the most illiterate 
might at least derive pictorial instruction as 
to the all important subject of which he 
treats. The first of these represents a gen- 
tleman standing on a balustrade, about ten 
yards off a lady, to whom he is bowing ob- 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 209 

sequiously. Both are attired in the costume 
of the sixteenth century, and both are looking 
equally sheepish. The scene of the other is 
laid in a modern drawing-room. It depicts a 
young gentleman in a dresscoat, and with his 
hat in his hand, stepping back to allow a 
young lady in her bonnet to pass him, while 
an elderly lady in weeds extends her right 
arm between the two benignantly. Whether 
the gentleman has been calling on the lady, 
and why, if so, he should have worn his dress- 
coat, or whether the lady in the bonnet has 
been calling on the gentleman and why, 
if so, he should have his hat in his hand, or 
whether they are husband and wife and have 
both been calling on the lady in weeds, 
and why, if so, they should bow to one 
another, and why the old lady should bless 
them in the act, are problems which I am 
totally unable to solve. 

Our author commences his book with a 
terrible picture of the plights in which an 
awkward person, i. e. one who has not studied 



210 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

these pages, finds himself on entering society 
for the first time. " Such a person at dinner 
seats himself on the edge of a chair, at so 
great a distance from the table that he fre- 
quently drops what he is about to take while 
conveying it to his mouth." 

At tea, we are told, he places his hand- 
kerchief on his lap, scalds his mouth, drops 
his cup or saucer, &c, and are assured that 
u a due observance of the following hints," 
i. e. again, a perusal of the book, will suffice 
to prevent such unhappy catastrophes. But, 
it appears, these are not the only ways in 
which we may sin against the laws of Eti- 
quette. We are warned especially against 
" forgetting names," by which it is incontes- 
tably shown that no man who is cursed with 
a bad memory can be a " gentleman." We 
are " never to begin a story which we cannot 
finish," and we are to be very particular 
never, no never, to answer only " Yes or 
No, without adding Sir, or Madam." Up to 
the time of reading this sentence it had been, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 211 

I confess, my opinion that it was only usual 
for servants, shopmen, and school-boys thus 
to address their employers, customers, and 
masters respectively. I had imagined at 
any rate that it was rather an affectation to 
be continually introducing these distinctions 
among our ordinary acquaintance. But of 
course the Author of u How to be a Gen- 
tleman for Sixpence " must know best, and 
I bow to his superior judgment. 

Let us see what else there is for us to 
avoid. We are to avoid u standing with our 
back to the fire " (though the glass is at 5 
and the Serpentine frozen ;) we are to avoid 
" humming tunes," which convinces me how 
much less of a " gentleman " Mr. Chick was 
than his brother-in-law Mr. Dombev ; we are 
to avoid " drawing figures on the table," 
which, being an act so frequently indulged 
in by the uninitiated in the manners of polite 
society, it was of course highly necessary to 
warn us against. u For either of these," adds 



212 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

our mentor, in his moral, " shows a contempt 
for the persons who are present." 

So much for General Principles — we are 
now offered something more specific. And 
first as to dinners, for even "gentlemen" 
must eat, or as our author more elegantly 
expresses it, u eating and drinking are natur- 
ally indispensable, but, as we have those pro- 
pensities in common with inferior animals, 
Man has a natural desire to assert the supe- 
rior dignity of his nature by aiming at a higher 
degree of perfection." You must first catch 
your hare before you can cook it, and you 
must necessarily receive an invitation to 
dinner before you can accept it. We will 
suppose that these preliminaries have been 
settled. When the day arrives, we are told to 
be punctual to the exact time " stated in our 
invite," as inattention in this particular will 
cause us to appear u ignorant of the usages of 
society." There is some sound sense in this 
advice, but even I, in my semi-ignorance, can 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 213 

hardly admit it to be in strict accordance 
with the rules of Etiquette. 

If my memory does not deceive me, it has 
generally been thought haut ton, at whatever 
parties I have been, to arrive considerably 
after the appointed time. Mr. Punch, fro.n 
whose opinion on such subjects there can be 
no appeal, has a capital hit at one of these 
intensely gentlemanly young gentlemen. 

The young man has been invited to dinner 
at seven o'clock and accordingly makes his 
appearance at a little past the half-hour. To 
his great surprise he is being ushered into the 
dining-room where to his still greater surprise 
he is greeted by the hostess in these words, 

" Oh, Mr. , we are delighted to see you — 

though you're a little late. You see the 
meat has just gone down, so shall I give you 
a little tart ? " 

But to continue. u When all the guests 
are assembled we shall probably be intro- 
duced to a lady to conduct to the dining-room. 
But if the hostess fails to provide us with a 



214 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

partner, it is our duty," we are told, a to select 
one to whom our attentions appear likely to 
prove agreeable." At the same time we are 
warned that u though we are bound to pay 
the greatest attention to the lady we have 
escorted to the table, we are carefully to 
avoid an appearance of too marked atten- 
tion/' This is really a most timely admoni- 
tion. Let us take it to heart. Matches have 
been made up in dining-rooms ere now and 
on the most trivial pretexts. Who knows, 
for instance, to what dire results the question 
(simple as it is) of " Will you take a little, 
Duck,' 7 might lead if put in a hesitating man- 
ner ? or what a too tender reference to the 
"chops" or "tomatoes" might engender? 
Let us profit by the example of the lamen- 
ted Mr. Pickwick. 

To proceed, " when once we are seated at 
table," we are warned above all things " not 
to cough or blow our nose ! ! " I should 
have thought on the first blush of it that to 
carry out the first of these pieces of advice 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 215 

was impossible, and to carry out the second 
disgusting. But of course Etiquette is superior 
to bodily ailments. What though through 
the suppression of a natural impulse the vic- 
tim got choked to death ? He would have 
the satisfaction of knowing that he died a 
" gentleman." 

"We are not to bend over our plates," 
(query, not even to say Grace) nor are we 
to " spill the sauce on the cloth " (which, of 
course, we should be certain to do if our 
author hadn't told us not) ; we are " not to 
dip our knives into the salt-cellar" (which is 
a death-blow to the French who have always 
piqued themselves on their u politesse ") ; and 
we are to u avoid mixing different kinds of 
meat upon the same plate." Alas ! alas ! I 
have ever had a penchant for taking tongue 
with my chicken, sausages with my turkey, 
and bacon with my veal, but I find I must 
indulge in that vulgar habit no longer or for- 
feit for ever the title of a True Gentleman ! 

We are now brought to the dessert and 



216 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

with it to the wine. " If we are invited to 
take wine," we are told u never to refuse, as 
this would be considered a mark of great 
rudeness.'' But supposing we are disciples of 
George Cruikshank ? Supposing we look 
upon every drop of alcohol as one more mile- 
stone on the road to ruin ? Are we to turn 
apostates and disown the pledge ? Are we to 
lay conscience, honour, and principle in one 
almighty sacrifice at the altar of Etiquette ? 

This brings the dinner to a close, and we are 
now treated to certain rules and regulations 
for our guidance out of doors. Thus: In 
walking we are u not to proceed at too rapid 
a pace." What, then, it may be asked, if we 
are in a hurry to catch the last express? 

Trains, we know, equally with Time and 
Tide, wait for no man ; that is to say, for 
no ordinary man. It is possible that 
they may wait for the followers of this book 
of Etiquette. In meeting a friend out of 
doors we are u not to accost him loudly— 
in a manner to attract the passers-by, but 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 217 

quietly, taking care that, if we address him by 
name, we may not be overheard by strangers.'' 
The hearty way in which Smith claps Jones 
on the shoulder, as the friends meet in 
Piccadilly after a ten years' absence, and the 
cheery voice with which he bids him u come 
and take a chop at one, old boy, in remem- 
brance of a Auld Lang Syne," won't do for the 
Student of Gentlemanly Deportment. Such 
familiarity in public is low — decidedly low. 
Jones should control his emotions until they 
are out of hearing. Friendship, affection, and 
so forth, may be all very well in their way, 
but they should always be subservient to the 
rules of Etiquette. But these observations 
seem to apply more particularly to the 
rougher sex. " Should the friend we meet be 
a lady, the recognition should first proceed 
from her, unless, indeed, we are on very inti- 
mate terms ; but even in this case it is better 
to follow the strict etiquette, for it may so 
happen by chance, to be inconvenient for the 
lady to acknowledge us." To my mind there 

L 



218 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

is something rather suspicious in the above in- 
timation. It being inconvenient for a lady to 
acknowledge a gentleman with whom she is 
acquainted, must imply that she is either too 
proud to acknowledge him, or else — if the 
truth must be said — that their relative posi- 
tions are somewhat equivocal. In the former 
case I should feel inclined not to notice the 
lady the next time she found it convenient to 
notice me, and, as to the latter, why, 1 can 
only say, which of course shows my extreme 
vulgarity, that I have never been placed in 
such an unfortunate situation. 

These then, are some of the precepts put 
forth in this remarkable work. Mr. Montagu 
Chambers humorously observed in one of his 
speeches that a clod might go in at Moses and 
Sons' well-known emporium, and come out 
in his own estimation a perfect gentleman. 
What Moses and Son do for the dress of the 
clod, this book apparently does for his man- 
ners, and there are, doubtless, persons who 
will go in for the perusal of it, and come 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 219 

away under the comfortable conviction that 
they are finished to a T. Far be it from me 
to wish to dispel their illusion. As for my- 
self, I can only confess to being somewhat 
sceptical. "Manners makyth Man," says 
the quaint old distich over the gateway at 
New College, Oxford, but I do not think that 
they are the "manners" which are recom- 
mended in this book. Eather do I hold with 
the great and good Earl of Chatham, when he 
wrote : — 

"Bowing, ceremonies, formal compliments 
will never be politeness. That must be easy, 
natural, and unstudied." 

Or, to take a more modern writer, as 
Kingsley says in one of the noblest of his 
sermons — 

" The right to be called 4 Gentlemen ' and 
4 Ladies/ is something which the world did 
not give, and cannot take away. But St. 
Paul and the Lord Jesus explain what this is*" 
They tell us how every one of us, down to the 
poorest and most ignorant man or woman, 

l 2 



220 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

may become true gentlemen and ladies in the 
sight of God, and of all reasonable men; 
and that not only in this world, but after 
death, for ever, and ever, and ever. And that 
is : 4 By Charity— By Love !' " 

Or again, as Thackeray puts it — 

u Which of us can point out many gentle- 
men in his circle ? men whose aims are ge- 
nerous, whose truth is constant, and not only 
constant in its kind, but elevated to a degree ; 
whose want of meanness makes them simple, 
who can look the world honestly in the 
face with an equal manly sympathy, for small 
and great? We all know a hundred whose 
coats are very well made, and a score who 
have excellent manners — but of gentlemen, 
how many?" 

Ere concluding, I would do my author the 
justice of quoting his last sentence, which has 
the singular merit of being entirely at variance 
with almost everything that goes before — 

" Nature " (he writes) u does not stand in 
need of ornaments, and we are never so ridi- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 221 

culous by the qualities we really possess, as by 
the affectation of those we have not." 

If the author had only acted up to these 
sentiments throughout his book, he would 
have been the wiser, and his readers none the 
worse. 



222 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 



COMPARING NOTES WITH AN OLD 
TRAVELLER. 



About the year 1702, one M. Veryard, M.D., 
published an account of his travels in France. 
It may be as well to remember the date — and 
for these reasons. There are certain wags who, 
whenever they wish to ridicule us for inform- 
ing them of anything with which they are 
already acquainted, are in the habit of 
inquiring if we are aware that Queen Anne 
is dead — a piece of irony which is irresistible. 
Now if the death of that good lady whom 
historians all agree to call "good," by way 
of comparison, I presume, to her predecessors 
— Mary and Elizabeth — in 1714, is to be 
regarded as a thing of the past, much more 
then (to quote Euclid) shall her accession in 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 223 

1702 be considered in that light. It was at 
least ten years before the appearance of u the 
Spectator," before Addison had written that 
scathing satire of his (in No. 45) anent 
" French Fashions, " it was full sixty years 
before Mr. Sterne commenced his sentimental 
potterings between Dover and Paris. 

Dr. Veryard had therefore comparatively 
an open field for his lucubrations. It may 
be worth while for one who has lately been 
over the same ground to compare notes with 
him, with the view of ascertaining a little 
about the sister country a hundred and sixty 
years ago. I do not anticipate that his 
observations will be found very deep, but at 
any rate they are original ; he had no Murray 
to crib from. Of course his first night in 
Paris is disturbed by a ghost ; that is to say, 
-he didn't see the ghost himself, but he had 
no sooner got into bed, than the gentleman 
with whom he shared his bedroom proceeded 
to inform him that the night before, about mid- 
night, " something went and threw itself on 



224 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

the bed in which he lay, giving three of the 
most hideous groans he ever heard." This, 
he u was very confident, was some unquiet 
spirit, for as it grew light he found the door 
fastened with two bolts as he had left it." 
And, says Dr. Veryard, " I could not attribute 
this to an effect of melancholy in the gentle- 
man, he being of a quite different temper ; 
nor to the phantom of a brain distempered 
by immoderate drink, it being a thing he 
wholly declined." The gentleman appears 
to have thought that some one had been 
murdered in the place, and staid there two or 
three nights more, but he heard no more of it. 
" For my part," adds the doctor, u I shifted 
lodgings next morning without making any 
inquiry about it." 

As soon as he was lodged in safer quarters 
he began his survey of the city. He found, 
to begin with, that " Paris, though not quite 
as big as London, was no less populous ! " 
Truly, we " cockneys" have increased and 
multiplied since then, with a vengeance ! 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 225 

u Among the most considerable places," he 
remarked, a was the Bastille, whither all such 
as have been any ways obnoxious to the 
government are sent, where their examination, 
trial, and execution is commonly managed 
with so much secrecy that their friends and 
relations seldom hear more of them. The 
keepers tell such as inquire after them, that 
they are in health, or dead of a natural death ; 
when, perhaps, they were beheaded, or 
hanged, twenty years before.' ' 

Thank God ! that loathsome den has fallen, 
and nought but a lofty column stands to mark 
its site. At Paris he had a view of the 
famous Madame de Maintenon, about whom 
he observes, u The people fancy her married 
to the king ; but on what grounds I know 
not. Her age and features are not so charm- 
ing, but her parts are so extraordinary that 
she passes for the wisest of her sex." Yet, 
in spite of Dr. Veryard, I think I am justified 
in affirming that Madame de Maintenon was 
privately married to the king in the year 

l 5 



226 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

1685, by the Archbishop of Paris, and in the 
presence of Pere la Chaise, and two other 
witnesses. 

At Chartres, about whose magnificent cathe- 
dral he cared but little, he speaks of a temple 
erected long before the birth of Christ, in 
honour of a Virgin who was to conceive. 
" The altar," he continues, u which St. Paul 
found at Athens, dedicated to the unknown 
Gods, shows that the Pagans had a greater 
idea of the Divinity than they could well ex- 
press, but here they seem to have had a pro- 
phetic spirit too." 

From Tours he made the usual excursion to 
the Abbey of Marmoustier, where he inspected 
the a vessel of oil brought from heaven, as 
they say, by Severus Sulpitius, to cure St. 
Martin's wounds.' 7 The abbey, though it still 
retains the name, is now quite a ruin. The oil, 
too, has disappeared. Unluckily, as some 
think, for King Henry, the same oil which 
had cured the saintly sores was used for 
anointing the regal head. 



• SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 227 

In the quainl, dirty, tumble-down city of 
Poictiers, Dr. Veryard detected a marvel 
which escaped my observation. It consisted 
in a stone 25 feet high, 60 in compass, and 
supported by 5 small ones. " Some will needs 
have S. Aldegonde to have brought it hither on 
her shoulders with the five supporters in her 
apron, and that, letting one fall by the way, 
the devil took it up, and following her to the 
place where she erected the stone on four 
pillars, set the fifth in the middle ; but as cun- 
ning artificer as he is he could not make it 
touch the great stone by an inch, nor does it 
to this day. 17 

Of the many venerable old churches with 
which Poictiers abounds, such, par example, as 
St. Eadegonde with its wonderful relics, its 
empty coffin, which once contained the saint's 
body and which is still guaranteed to cure the 
diseases of the faithful to the utter discomfiture 
of the Poictiers physicians, oar traveller has 
nothing to say. 



228 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

At the picturesque though scorching town 
of Angouleme, he has this story — " Near this 
city was fought a battle between Clovis, the 
first Christian King of France, and Aiaric, 
King of the ^Yest Goths, in which the latter 
was killed by the hands of the former, and the 
country soon after cleared of those barbarians. 
But Angouleme obstinately standing out after 
the defeat, the walls of the town are said to 
have fallen by a miracle, whereupon the in- 
habitants were obliged to quit their preten- 
sions." 

At the little town of Libourne he mentions 
a phenomenon in the shape of a " rowling 
wave of the bigness of a tun, which overturns 
all ships, or whatever lies in its way, which is 
heard at three leagues distance, and at sound 
of which not only do mariners secure their 
ships in the middle of the channel, but swans, 
geese, and ducks, by more than ordinary in^ 
stinct, leave the water I" This, however, he 
warns us, " he did not see himself," so that 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 229 

readers are permitted to believe as much of it 
as they like, which I imagine will not be 
an " ower big bit." 

At Bordeaux, he visited the church of St. 
Severin, where he saw u divers ancient tombs, 
amongst which there is an hollow one sup- 
ported by four small pillars, in which the 
water is said to increase and decrease with the 
moon ;" but, unfortunately, in this case " his 
short stay hindered him from making the ob- 
servation." This church appears to be rich in 
marvels. Children, I was informed, are fre- 
quently brought here in order to acquire cor- 
poreal vigour, which, it is said, the bones of 
some saint (some u muscular Christian," it is 
presumed), must be able to impart. 

Toulouse, as all Pyrenean pilgrims know, is 
the last place from which they can gaze upon 
the shadowy outline of the mighty peaks and 
ridges they 'have left behind. It is a quiet, 
sober-looking town enough in all conscience, 
possessing one of the best museums in France, 
and, according to the Catholics, containing 



230 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

the holiest place in the whole world. " Non 
est in toto sanctior orbe locus "■ — quam, the 
crypt of St. Sernin's church. Yet, here is a 
horrible affair which transpired during our 
traveller's stay in the town. " A company of 
thieves designing to break into a certain shop 
in the night-time, opened a hole in the side of 
a brick wall big enough for one to enter ; but 
as they were at work, the noise alarmed the 
people within, who, perceiving whereabout 
they were opening their passage, expected 
them in the shop. The hole being finished, the 
man came in with his legs foremost, whom the 
people within seized when his body was about 
half through, and held him fast in the hole, 
and the passage being quite stopped up, the 
others without could by no means set him at 
liberty. Meanwhile, one of the servants 
called the watch, but before they could get 
thither the rogues were all fled, excepting him 
in the hole, whom they found without a 
head ! for, it seems, his companions finding it 
impossible to get him thence had cut it off and 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 231 

carried it away with them, that lie might not 
be known, nor drawn by threats or promises 
to discover the rest." 

4t The climate of Montpellier," Dr. Veryard 
foand " extremely serene and temperate." To 
this proposition, I do not feel at all inclined 
to assent. Two more wretched, dreary, rainy 
days than those which I have spent there, I 
cannot remember. I am aware that the gay 
and glittering Torquay — resort alike of those 
who are addicted to debility and those who 
are addicted to balls — has been compared 
unto Montpellier. But this is an insult which 
in the name of the Torquayians I stand forth 
to resent. Be it observed, however, that our 
traveller is an M.D., and probably the number 
of catarrhs, colds, and consumptions, which 
the united agency of wind and rain must in- 
duce, enabled him, from a professional point 
of view, to consider Montpellier favoured 
with the very best of climates. The climate, 
however, serene as it was, did not improve 
his opinion of the lady inhabitants. " The 



232 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

women of this city," he says, " are generally of 
very free and open conversation, and withal, 
so very wanton that it passes into a proverb — 

" ' Les femmes de Montpellier sont si savantes 
qu'elles n ' apprennent rien de nouveau lejour de 
leurs noces! " 

The Ecole de Medecin which contains the 
robe with which Rabelais was installed had 
far greater charms for him. Concerning that 
jolly, filthy, philosophical, comical, satirical, 
medical, theological, mirth-provoking, care- 
dispelling monk-author, he gives us the fol- 
lowing anecdote — • 

" No one can commence Doctor (at the 
Ecole) till he has seven times received and 
worn the gown and cap of Eabelais. This 
ceremony is performed in memory of that 
zealous asserter of the privileges of the King, 
on the account of some disorders committed 
by the scholars. Eabelais espousing their cause 
takes a journey to Paris, and going to the 
chancellor's house salutes the porter at the 
gate in Latin, who, taking him for a fool, or 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 233 

a madman, calls one of the domestics, who 
understood that language — but Babelais hear- 
ing him speak Latin answered him in Greek; 
whereupon they brought another that spoke 
Greek, whom he answered in Hebrew, and a 
third that understood Hebrew he accosts in 
Syriac, Arabic, and Chaldee. Having thus 
sported with the inferior officers, and drained all 
the science at the house, he was brought before 
the chancellor, where having made a learned 
speech in favour of the students, their privi- 
leges were all restored, to the great satisfac- 
tion of all concerned.' ' Upon his tomb it is 
said the following epitaph is engraven — 

Pluto, prince o' the dark abyss, 
Where laughter a mere stranger is ; 
Take Rabelais and waft him off, 
Believe me, you'll have cause to laugh. 

That which chiefly attracted our traveller's 
notice at Avignon was the " Jew's quarter,'' 
easily found out, he tells us, " by the smell, 
being the most sordid, nasty part of the city, 
and, indeed, a meer Jakes (! ! !) nor is it their 



234 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

streets alone that are filled with dirt, their 
houses within are as filthy and ill house- 
wived, and that" (oh! most bigoted Dr. 
Veryard !) not only here but in most other 
parts where Jews reside." What, alack ! and 
is this true ? Tell me, oh ! ye who dine with 
David Salomons ; inform me, oh! ye visitors 
at 148, Piccadilly. 

In the eyes of John Murray, or whoever 
the accomplished gentleman may be who 
writes travels in his name, in the eyes of 
Charles Dickens, and in the eyes of your very 
humble servant, the ancient palace of the 
popes is an edifice rich in associations. But 
not in the eyes of Dr. Veryard. u It had little 
worth our curiosity," he writes, a but a silver 
bell which is never rung but at the death or 
election of a pope." 

It is true that that awful massacre of 1791, 
when sixty miserable persons — men and 
women — alike fell a sacrifice to the blinded 
fury of a mob — did not occur till long after 
our traveller's death. But why had he 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 235 

nothing to say of those gloomy dungeons, 
those winding labyrinths, that dreadful salle, 
cunningly contrived to stifle the cries of 
its wretched inmates— that ruined furnace, 
where the instruments of their torture were 
heated — those stones, which echoed to their 
footsteps, all bearing trace of the once ter- 
rible, once powerful inquisition ? 

Dr. Veryard sums up his book with an 
account of the " present state of France, the 
temper, manners, and customs of its people." 
And first of the Government — " the Govern- 
ment is at present wholly arbitrary and un- 
limited, for sic volo, sic jubeo, is the usual 
reasoning of state, and all procedures of the 
civil magistrate pre-suppose an ultima ratio 
regum. The people seem well enough satis- 
fied, at least, dare not for their lives murmur; 
for he that has taught them to obey has the 
whole power in his own hands to keep them 
within the bounds prescribed." One might 
easily imagine that this description of the 
French Government was dated 1863. For it 



236 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

would hold equally good at the present time. 
Of the people themselves he writes : — " The 
French are, generally speaking, very curious, 
confident, inquisitive, credulous, facetious, 
rather witty than wise, eternal babblers ; and, 
in a word, they are at all times what an 
Englishman is when he is half drunk ( ! !) ,: 
Then, we are told, " if they invite you to a 
dinner or collation, they do it with all the cere- 
mony and seeming freeheartedness imaginable, 
though all the while it's no more than a piece 
of complaisance, and esteemed mere rudeness 
and ill-breeding to accept of the invitation, ,, 
Notwithstanding this, Dr. Veryard is sorely 
afraid that his countrymen are " strangely 
infatuated with, and fond of, whatever bears 
the name of French. My lord's peruque 
sits not well till monsieur has had a hand in 
it, and my lady relishes not her victuals till 
they are served with a French sauce. The 
ribands, lace, perfumes, paints, and ladies' 
dresses, with an infinity of other trifles, turn 
to their incredible benefit, insomuch that 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 237 

divers persons at Paris that deal in these 
toyish commodities have been known to have 
got an hundred thousand pounds sterling in 
less than ten years time," which, he assures us 
dolefully, " is a convincing argument of their 
neighbour's dementation, and their own dex- 
terity, in taking them on the blind side and 
putting a high value on their goods." 

Even the " language " of our gay neigh- 
bours sticks in Dr. Veryard's throat. " It is a 
corruption of the Latin, soft, effeminate, and 
better becoming a woman than a man." 

Ah ! my good doctor, pity you didn't live 
a hundred and fifty years later. A short 
course of study under Tarver, or Nugent, or 
De Porquet, or even the anonymous adver- 
tiser of u Parlez-vous-Francais," or u French 
in Half-a-Lesson," might have made you more 
proficient in the lingo, or, at any rate, would 
have opened your heart towards those who 
speak it. 



238 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



FLOWERS THAT BLUSH UNSEEN. 



41 Full many a flower is born to blush un- 
seen, and waste its sweetness on the desert 
air," singeth Thomas Gray. Let me cull 
you a bouquet of these blushing beauties. 
Though the flowers which compose it are 
two hundred years old and the vases which 
embalm them are battered and broken, let us 
hope that their hues are not faded, and that the 
"scent of the roses will cling to them still." 

To drop metaphor permit me to extract, 
from a few shabby old volumes with broken 
backs and yellow pages, some of the choicest 
effusions of the minor minstrels of the seven- 
teenth century. 

Let us begin with Mr. Thomas Randolph, 



* Poems by Tho. Randolph, M. A., and late Fellow of Trinity Col.— 
in Cambridge. London, Printed in the yeere, 1643. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 239 

Master of Arts. This gentleman was the 
author of " The Muses' Looking-Glasse " 
and other Comedies of more or less celebrity, 
but it is with his poems chiefly with which I 
am concerned. Mr. Randolph appears, from 
his title-page, to have been a fellow of Trinity 
College, Cambridge, but he is not disposed 
to attribute his poetical acquirements to the 
teaching of his Alma Mater. 

" Would you commence a poet, sir, and be 
A graduate in the threadbare mystery, 
The Oxes-ford will no man thither bring, 
Where the horse-hoofe raised the Pegasian spring. 
Nor will the bridge through which low Cham doth run 
Direct you to the banks of Helicon ; 
If in that art you mean to take degrees 
Bedlam's the best of Universities." 

It has been said that u poeta nascitur nonfit" 
but it seems that there is a " royal road " to 
Parnassus though the wards of a madhouse. 
Like many other poets, both ancient and 
modern, he appears to have experienced the 
pangs of poverty. He treats the matter in a 
philosophical spirit, however, and observes 
with grim humour 



240 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

" Hexameter's no sterling, and I fear 

What the brain coins goes scarce for current there." 

and again 

" Or, if I now were hurrying to the Jail, 

Are the nine muses held sufficient bail ? " 

As a natural consequence he is pestered with 
duns, whose pressing demands rouse his bit- 
terest ire. 

" These evil spirits haunt me every day 
And will not let me eat, study, or pray ; 
I am so much in their books that 'tis known, 
I am too seldome frequent in my owne : 
What damage given to my doors might be, 
If doors might actions have of battery." 

And after invoking all sorts of horrors on 
their heads, he brings them to a climax 
with 

" But my last Imprecation this shall be 
May they more Debtors have like me ! " 

But his poems are not all egotistic. Place 
aux dames, and here is something very touch- 
ing and tender in honour of " the Ladies." 

" He is a parricide to his mother's name, 
And with an impious hand murders her fame 
That wrongs the praise of woman, that dares write 
Libels on Saints, or with foule ink requite 
The milk they lent us ; Better sex command 
To your defence my more religious hand." 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 241 

This is perhaps meant a little ironically. 

" Boast we of knowledge ? You have more than we 
You were the first ventured to pluck the tree, 
And that more Rhetorick in your tongues doth ly, 
Let him dispute against that dares deny 
Your least commands ; " 

But he atones for it afterwards. 

" Thus, perfect creatures, if detraction rise 
Against your sex dispute but with your eyes 
Your hand, your lip, your brow, there will be sent 
So subtile and so strong an argument, 
Will teach the Stoic his affection too 
And call the Cinick from his tub to woo." 

That he has an eye for the lovely in nature 
will be seen from this blithesome ditty written 
to a friend in the country. 

Come, spurre away, 
I have no patience for a longer stay, 

But must go down, 
And leave the chargeable noise of this great town. 
I will the country see 
Where old simplicity, 
Though hid in gray, 
Doth look more gay 
Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad. 

Farewell, you city witts, that are 
Almost at civill warre, 
'Tis time that I grew wise when all the world grows mad, 

More of my dayes 
I will not spend to gain an idiot's praise, 

Or to make sport 
With some slight puny of the Innes of Court. 

M 



242 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

Then, worthy Stafford, say- 
How shall we spend the day, 
With what delights 
Shorten the nights ? 
When from this tumult we are got secure 

Where mirth with all her freedom goes, 
Yet shall no longer lose 
Where every word is thought, and every thought is pure. 

There from the tree 
We'll cherries pluck, and pick the strawberry, 

And every day 
Go see the wholesome countrey girls make hay, 
Whose brown hath lovelier grace 
Than any painted face 
That I do know 
Hide Park can show, 
Where I had rather gain a kisse than meet 
(Though some of them in greater state 
Might court my love with plate), 
The beauties of the cheap and wives of Lumbard Street 

A pleasant picture, is it not ? Happy poet, 
plucking cherries, and picking strawberries, 
and flirting with " wholesome countrey girls," 
albeit you are a little severe on the (oh, 
pudor!) painted belles of Hyde Park and 
Lombard Street. I shall conclude my ex- 
tracts from Mr. Eandolph with quotations 
from two graceful eulogies. The first is upon 
11 The Lady Venetia Digby "— 

" Beauty itself lies here, in whom alone 
Each part enjoyed the same perfection. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 213 

In some the eyes we praise, in some the hair, 

In her the lips, in her the cheeks are fair, 

That Nymph 1 s fine feet ; her hands we beauteous call 

But in this form we praise no part, but all. 

The ages past have many beauties shown, 

And I more plenty in our time have known ; 

But in the age to come I look for none ; 

Nature despairs because her pattern's gone." 

the next to " M. Endymion Porter " — 

" Goe, bashful muse, thy message is to one 
That drinks and fills thy Helicon, 



Sing of his faith to the bright soul that's fled, 

And left you all poor girls struck dead, 

With j ust despair of any future men, 

T' employ or to reward a pen, 

A soul that staying would have wonders wrought 

High as himsel f or his great thought, 

And full of days and honours (with our prayers 

Instead of beads summed up with tears), 

Might of her own free flight to Heavn have gone 

Offer what's heart, his hand, his sword had done. 

But sing not thou a tale of discontent 

To him whose joy is to lament. 



Say to him, Cupid being once too kinde, 
Wept out his eyes, and so grew blinde, 
For dead Adonis, grief being paid her due, 
He turned love's wanton God, and so do you." 

Mr. John Cleavland seems to have been a 
poet of consummate modesty. Not only are 

K 2 



244 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

his own name and that of his printer absent 
from the title-page, but the plaee of publica- 
tion also, and his effusions accordingly appear 
as " Poems by J. C. Printed in the year 
1651/' None of the poems, indeed, exhibit 
signs of power, but there are few of which the 
author need have been ashamed — 

" Never durst poet touch a pen to write, 
Until his ink were tempered with love's sighs," 

sang the Swan of Avon, some fifty years 
before, and it is in amatory matters that our 
poet excels. 

Here is an extract from a dashing love- 
song which would have rejoiced the heart of 
Tom Moore, — 

Come hither Apollo's bouncing girle, 

And in a whole Hippocrene of sherry 
Let's drink around till our brains do whirle, 

Tuning our pipes to make ourselves merry. 
A Cambridge lass, Venus- like born of the froth, 
Of an old half-filled jug of barley broth, 
She, she's my mistress, her suitors are many, 
But sheell have a square-cap if ere she have any. 

And first for the Plush sake the Monmouth cap corns, 
Shaking his head like an empty bottle, 

When his new-fangled oath, by Jupiter's thumbs, 
That to her health hee'll begin a pottle, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 245 



He tells her that after the death of his grannam 
He shall have God knows what per annum, 
But still, she replies, ' Good Sir Labee, 
If ever I have a man, square- cap for me.' 

Then Calot Leather Cap strongly pleads, 

And fain would derive the pedigree of Fashion, 
The Antipodes wear their shoes on their heads, 

And why may not we in their imitation ? 
Oh, how this football noddle would please, 
If it were but well tost on St. Thomas his lees, 
But still, she replied, ' Good Sir Labee, 
If ever I have a man, Square-cap for me.' 

Next comes a Puritan in a wrought cap, 

With a long-wasted conscience towards a sister, 
And making a Chappel of Ease of her lap, 
First he said grace, and then he kist her, 
Belov'd, quoth he, thou art my text, 
Then falls he to use and application next. 
But then, she replied, ' Your text, sir, I'll be, 
For then I'm sure you'll ne'er handle me.' 

But see, where Sattain-cap scouts about, 

And fain would this wench in his fellowship marry, 
He told her how such a man was not put out, 

Because his wedding he closely did carry. 
Heel purchase Induction by Simony, 
And offer her money her incombent to be, 
But still, she replied, ' Good Sir Labee, 
If ever I have a man Square-cap for me. 

The lawyer's a sophister by his round cap. 
Nor in their fallacies are they divided ; 

The one milks the pocket, the other the tap, 
And yet this wench he fain would have brided. 

Come, leave these thread-bare schollers, quoth he, 

And give me livery and seison of thee ; 



246 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

But peace, John-o Nokes, * and leave your oration, 

For I never will be your impropriation. 

I pray you, therefore, good sir, Labee, 

If ever I have a man, Square cap for me.'' 

Kisses have been fertile subjects for the 
erotic poets. Amorous old Herrick wrote 
some delicious verses on " Love's sweetest 
language ;" Secundus composed a whole book 
in Latin, in honour of the "Basia; " Aphra 
Behn considered them as " breezes breathed 
amid the groves of ripening spices on the 
height of day ; " with Dryden they were 
" like drops of honey ; " and with Moore, 
u ruin's sweet, when they undid him." But 
of all sweet little trifles ever penned in honour 
of a kiss, commend me to the following, to 
Mrs. K. T., who asked him why he was dumb : 

"I'll tell you how I did become 

So strangely (as you hear me) dumb. 

"As soon as blest with your salute 
My manners taught me to be mute ; 
For, less they cancel all the bliss, 
You signed with so divine a kiss, 
The lips you seal must needs consent 
Unto the tongue's imprisonment. 

* John-o-Nokes — a fictitious name used in law proceedings. Grose's 
Glossary. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 247 

" Oh ! listen with attentive sight, 
To what my prattling eyes indite ; 
Or (lady) since 'tis in your choice 
To give or to suspend my voice 
With the same key, let ope the door 
Wherewith you lock'd it fast before ; 
Kiss once again, and when you thus 
Have doubly been miraculous, 
My muse shall write with Handmaid's duty, 
The golden legend of your beauty." 

Eichard Wild, doctor of divinity, presents 
us with a tasty little volume, containing all 
his poems " hitherto extant, and some added 
in the year 1671." From among them I 
would select a stanza or two from a 
smart jeu-d'esprit on " the gross mistake of 
a reverend son of the Church, in bowing at 
the name of Judas at St. Paul's, November 
5, 1663." 

" You, the present Lord Mayor 
And brethren repair 

With the several corporations, 
To St. Paul's church to pray, 
And solemnize the day 

That so seasonably saved the three nations. 



* Poems, being an exact collection of all hitherto extant, and some 
added : never printed before this year, 1671. The author, R. Wild, D.D., 
London ; printed for R. R. and W C, and are to be sold in St. Paul's 
Churchyard, and at the Exchange. 



248 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



" But good doctor 

When he came before ye 

The sacred gospel to read ; 
At Judas, his name, 
(O, horrible shame) 

He bowed his reverend head. 

" Some say that his sight 
(Poor man) is not right, 

I wish that it be no worse ; 
But others think he, 
To Judas bowed the knee, 

For love that he bears to the purse. 



" What, then, shall we say ; 
Can he preach, can he pray, 

Or put to rebuke the gainsayer, 
Who, in reading the word, 
Discerns not our Lord, 
From him that was his betrayer." 

Let us hope that the squib took effect, and 

that Dr. was not u caught napping" again. 

The following epitaphs are quaint enough. 

AN EPITAPH FOK A GODLY MAn's TOMB. 

"Here lies a piece of Christ, a star in dust, 

A vein of Gold, a China Dish that must 

Be used in Heav'n, when God shall feast the just." 

AN EPITAPH FOR A WICKED MAN'S TOMB. 

"Here lies the Carkase of a Cursed Sinner 
Doom'd to be roasted for the Devil's Dinner." 

There is much genuine pathos evinced in this 






SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 249 

tribute to the memory of an old country 
Squire. I am the more happy to quote it, as 
I believe that there are those still alive who 
bear his name. 

UPON THE DEATH OF DENNIS BOND, ESQ. 
WHO DIED FOUR DAYES BEFORE THE LORD-PROTECTOR. 

" While Grief doth chime All-in, and every Tube 
Eycleped, Mayor and Aldermen, subscribe 
(Or make their Marks at least) how full of sadness 
That Oliver is dead, and eke of gladness 

That Richard reigns 

. . I by that Great Ghost's leave, am well content 
To wait upon a meaner monument. 

Yet fit to stand by this if not above 
As having, though less Pomp, yet no less love ; 
'Tis Dennis Bond, that true bred English Squire 
Whose worth, if my rude Fancy should aspire 
To reach the sinews : just, pious, valiant, wise 
Able for councel or for enterprize ; 



" Atlas of State ! oh ! if king Charles that's gone, 
Instead of Digby and old Cottington, 
Had had one Dennis : he had stood till now, 
And kept the crown fast on his royal brow. 
Cromwell could not outlive him ; So our State 
In one week lost their Pilot, and his Mate. 



"Adieu ! brave Bond 1 My aged muse shall burn 
Her with 'red Laurels at thy Sacred Urn. 
Live thine own Monument, and scorn a stone ; 
Marbles themselves have flaws, thy Name has none.' 

M 5 



250 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

The low opinion which Mr. Thomas Flat- 
man, appears to entertain of his own powers 
disarms all criticism. He is not content with 
placing on his title-page the lines from 
Virgil. 

" Me quoque Vatem 
Dicunt pastores, sed non ego credulus illis;" 

which for the benefit of my lady readers may 
be thus Anglicized: The shepherds call me 
also a poet, but I dorUt believe them. 

He actually goes out of his way to depre- 
ciate the Art to which he is devoted. In his 
" poor opinion " it is but " an innocent help 
to pass a man's time when it lies on his 
hands, and his fancy can relish nothing else." 
His utmost end in writing verse was for his 
" own diversion, and that of a few friends 
u whom he very well loved.' 7 If he is asked 
"why these productions are exposed" he 
"may truly say " he u could not help it ; one 
unlucky copy, like a Bell-weather, stole into 
the Common, and the rest of the flock took 

* Poems and Songs By Thomas Flatman, London : Printed for 
Benjamin Tookjk, at the Ship, in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1682. 






SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 251 

the opportunity to leave the Enclosure." His 
friends however appear to have thought 
differently, for in certain odes addressed to 
him on the publication of his book, I find 
that he is spoken of in such terms as u a 
happy wit," u the darling son of Heaven," 
that u Ovid might have seen in his verse the 
style of which his precepts should have been," 
that " he is to have infallible eternity," and 
next unto Cowley u immortally shall shine." 
Presuming, therefore, that his friends knew 
him better than he knew himself, we will 
treat him as one who had not only attempted 
but had actually made some progress up the 
heights of Parnassus. Let us commence 
with some lines a in memory of the incompa- 
rable Orinda," 

They show much feeling and some of the 
expressions are very beautiful : 

" A long Adieu to all that's bright, 

Noble, or brave in Woman-kind ; 
To all the Wonders of their wit, 

And Trophies of their Mind : 



252 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

" The glowing heat of t'holy fire is gone 
To th' Altar whence 'twas kindled, flown ; 

There's nought on earth but ashes left behind : 
E'er since the amazing sound was spread — 
Orinda's dead. 

*' Every soft and fragrant word, 
All that language can afford, 
Every high and lofty thing, 
That's wont to set the soul on wing, 
No longer with this worthless world would stay. 

" Thus, when the death of the great Pan was told, 
Along the shore the dismal tidings roll'd 
The lesser gods their fanes forsook, 
Confounded with the mighty stroke, 
They could not overlive that fatal day, 
But sighed and groaned their gasping oracles away." 

The poet next laments that death is com- 
mon to us all — learned and unlearned alike — 
and that even when he himself " his artless 
breath resigns," his dust will have as much 
poetry as hers. " Sons of War" are then ad- 
monished to throw " their swords and gaunt- 
lets by "now that she who "guilded their 
bayes," who " burnisht their victorious arms," 
and " wrote their praise in heroic numbers," 
lies " cold and dead." 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 253 

" With her the soul of poesie is gone, 

Gone, while our expectations flew 
As high a pitch as she has done, 

Exhal'd to Heav'n like early dew, 
Betimes the little shining drops are flown, 
Ere the drowsy world perceived that Manna was 

come down." 

Is this the u Orinda " mentioned by Leigh 
Hunt, * under the name of " Katherine 
Phillips/' and to whom are attributed the 
well-known verses — 

" Opinion is the rate of things 

From hence our peace doth flow ; 
I have a better fate than kings, 
Because I think it so." 

Here is a mournful, melancholy song, about 
the " old, old fashion, that came in with our 
forefathers, and will last unchanged until this 
world has run its course, and the great firma- 
ment is rolled up like a scroll." 

" Oh ! the sad day 
When friends shall shake their heads and say, 

Of miserable me, 
Hark how he groans, look how he pants for brqath, 
See how he struggles with the pangs of death ; 

* Vide " Specimens of British Poetesses." Page 117, Vol. n. of 
" Men, Women, and Books." By Leigh Hunt. London : Smith and 
Elder, 1847. 



254 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

When they shall say of these poor eyes, 
How hollow, and how dim they be, 

Mark how his breast does swell and rise 
Against his potent enemy ! 

When some old friend shall step to my bedside, 

Touch my chill face, and thence shall gently slide, 

And when his next companions say, 

How does he do ? What hopes ? shall turn away, 

Answering only with a lift up hand, 

Who can his fate withstand ? - 

Then shall a gasp or two do more 

Than e'er my Rhetorick could before, 

Persuade the peevish world to trouble me no more." 

I like a " Thought on Death," also, albeit 
the metre is somewhat affected. 

"When on my sick bed I languish, 

Full of sorrow, full of anguish, 

Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying, 

Panting, groaning, speechless, dying, 
My soul just now about to take her flight, 
Into the regions of eternal night. 

Oh ! tell me you, 

That have been long below, 

What shall I do ? 
What shall I think when cruel death appears, 

That may extenuate my fears ! 
Methinks I hear some gentle spirit say, 

Be not fearful, come away. 
Think with thyself that now thou shalt be free, 
And find thy long expected liberty, 
Better thou mayest, but worse thou canst not be, 
Than in this Vale of Tears and Misery, 
Like Caesar with assurance that came on 
And unamazed, attempt the Laurel Crown 
That lyes on th' other side Death's Rubicon." 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 255 

Turn we from grave to gay, from the 
cypress to the myrtle, from Penseroso to 
Allegro. Here is a fantastic pastoral on 
" Coricftm Converted" — 

When Coridon a slave did lie 

Entangled in his Phillis' eye : 

How did he sigh ! how did he grone, 

How melancholy was his tone ! 

He told his story to the woods, 

And wept his passion by the floods ; 
But Phillis, cruel Phillis, too, too blame, 
Regarded not his sufferings, nor his flame. 

Then Coridon resolved no more 

His Mistress' mercy to implore ; 

How did he laugh, how did he sing ! 

How did he make the forests ring ; 

He told his conquests to the woods, 

And drown' d his passions in the floods ; 
Then Phillis, cruel Phillis, less severe, 
Would have had him, but he would none of her. 

The last two lines may be recommended to 
the attention of all love-lorn (and rejected) 
suitors ; Coridon in this case appears to have 
acted up to the admonition of Sir John 
Suckling — 

" Quit, quit, for shame this will not move : 

This cannot take her ; 

If of herself she will not love, 

Nought can make her — 

The DEVIL TAKE HER ! ! ! " 



256 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Doubtless he would have sympathised with 
Charles Mackay, when he wrote — 

" If her cold indifference move thee, 
There are other hearts to love thee ; 
Be no longer weary, weary — 
Weary, weary, of the world.'' 

Do any of my readers remember Tommy 
Moore's merry rhymes, commencing — 

" Come, send round the glass, and leave points of belief 

To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools ; 
This moment's a flower too rare and too brief 

To be withered and stained by the dust of the schools." 

Here are a couple of rattling, rollicking 
ditties, dashed off in the same spirit — 

" Now that the World is all in amaze, 

Drums and trumpets rending heaven, 
Wounds a bleeding, mortals dying, 

Widows and orphans piteously crying ; 
Armies marching, towns in a blaze, 

Kingdoms and States at sixes and sevens, 
What should an honest fellow do, 
Whose courage and fortunes run equally low ? 
Let him live, say I, till his glass be run, 

As easily as he may. 
Let the wine and the sand of his glass flow together, 
For Life's but a Winter's day ; 

Alas, from Sun to Sun, 
The Time's very short — very dirty the weather, 
And we silently creep away. 
Let him nothing do he would wish undone, 

And sleep himself safe from the noise of the gun." 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 257 

II. 

" Why so serious, why so grave ? 

Man of business, why so muddy 
Thyself from chance thou can'st not save 

With all thy care and study — 
Look merrily then and take thy repose, 
For 'tis to no purpose to look so forlorn ; 
Since the world was as bad before thou wert born 

And when it will mend who knows ? 

And a thousand years hence 'tis all one 
If thou lay'st on a dunghill, or satest on a throne. 

" To be troubled, to be sad 

Carking Mortal 'tis a folly, 
For a pound of pleasure's not so bad 

As an ounce of melancholy : 
Since all our lives long we travel towards death 
Let us rest us sometimes, and bait by the way, 
'Tis but dying at last ; in our race let us stay 

And we shan't be so soon out of breath. 

Sit the Comedy out, and that done, 
When the play's at an end, let the curtain fall down." 

Here is another rap on the knuckles for co- 
quettes, which without comment I will leave 
to the (it must be confessed) fascinating little 
ladies who belong to that class. 

" Prithee confess for my sake and your own 

Am I the Man or no ? 
If I am he, thou cans't not do't too soon, 
If not, thou cans't not be too slow ; 
If Woman cannot love, Man's folly's great 
Your sex with so much zeal to treat ; 



258 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

But, if we freely proffer to pursue 

Our tender thoughts and spotless love 
Which nothing shall remove, 

And you despise all this, pray what are you f " 

There is some cleverness shown in the lines to 
a Professor of Music. 

" For poets can but say, Thou maks't them Sing 
And th' Embryo words dost to perfection bring. 



Our naked lines drest and adorned by thee 

Assume a beauty, pomp, and bravery ; 

So awful and majestick they appear 

They need not blush to reach a Prince's ear ; 

Princes tho' to poor poets seldom kind, 

Their numbers turned to air, with pleasure mind, 

Studied, and laboured tho' our poems be, 

Alas ! they die, unheeded, without thee. 



Thy dextrous Notes with all our Thoughts comply, 
Can creep on Earth, can up to heaven fly ; 
In Heights, and Cadences, so sweet, so strong, 
They suit a Shepherd's reed — and Angel's tongue. 

Here is a pretty little bit on a lady in a 
bath. 

ON MRS. E. MONTAGUE'S 
BLUSHING IN THE BATH. 

" Amidst the Nymphs (the glory of the flood) 
Thus once the beauteous iEgle stood, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 259 

So sweet a tincture, ere the Sun appears, 
The bashful ruddy morning wears ; 
Thus thro' a Crystal wave the Coral glows 
And such a Blush sits on the Virgin Rose." 

With which u Virgin Kose," gentle reader, 
I will, 'an it please you, complete my nosegay, 
in the hope that you are not altogether dis- 
pleased with the flowers that blush unseen. 






260 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



GATHERINGS FROM GRAVE STONES. 



There is a great sameness observable in our 
modern epitaphs. They almost invariably 
commence with recording the name, pro- 
fession, and age of the person deceased, and 
then proceed to enumerate his manifold 
virtues — virtues, of which, generally speak- 
ing, the world was in happy ignorance as 
long as he was alive. But in former days 
they abounded in a great variety. A perusal of 
them in any old country churchyard will still 
afford food for the contemplative, and will 
give them cause for joy or sorrow according 
as their humour is to " laugh or weep over the 
follies of mankind. " It would be impossible 
in the limits of one paper to give very copious 
extracts from these eccentric compositions. I 
have therefore thought it best, from a number 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 261 

wliich I have in my possession, to make a 
selection of the choicest and the rarest. 
Even among these there will, doubtless, be 
found some with which my readers are already 
acquainted, in which case I must ask them to 
take their repetition in good part, and believe 
that I have not thus offended •intentionally. 
Very frequently the ancient epitaph took 
the form of a pun. Here is a pun philoso- 
phic, which I would commend to the notice of 
Professor Pepper — 

On Mr. Aire (St. Giles's, Cripplegate) — 

"Methinks it was a wondrous death, 
That Aire should die for want of breath." 

Here is something more elaborate dis- 
covered in a Cornish Churchyard — 

On Maria Arundel (the letters of whose 
name form the anagram u a dry laurel ") — 

" Man to the marigold compared may be, 
Man may be likened to the laurel tree ; 
Both feed the eye, both please the optic sense, 
Both soon decay, both suddenly fleet hence ; 
What then infer you from her name but this — 
Man lades away, man a dry laurel is ?' 



262 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

We have heard of Sermons in Stones, but 
it is not often that one comes across such 
poignant satires on a tombstone as the 
following — 

" My grandfather was buried here, 

My cousin Jane, and two uncles dear ; 
My father perished from a mortification in his thighs, 

My sister dropt down dead in the Minories ; 
But the reason I'm interred here, according to my thinking, 

Is owing to my good living and hard drinking ; 
If, therefore, good Christians, you wish to live long, 
Beware of drinking brandy, gin, or anything strong." 

The next, translated from the Latin inscrip- 
tion over Samuel Ruttee, Bishop of Sodor 
and Man, is, I opine, well known to many of 
my readers — 

In this house 

Which I have borrowed from 

My brethren, the worms, 

Lie I, 

Samuel, by Divine permission, 

Bishop of this Island. 



Stop, reader, 

Behold, and smile at 

The Palace of a Bishop !" 

One would imagine Mr. and Mrs. Peitchard 



SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 263 

to have been the happiest couple alive, from 
reading the first four lines inscribed to their 
memory — 

" Here lies the man Richard, 

And Mary his wife, 
Their surname was Pritchard, 

They lived without strife. 

But the sting of the satire is yet to come — 

" The reason was plain, 

They abounded in riches, 
They had no care or pain, 

And the wife wore the breeches." 

Those good-natured but weak-minded gen- 
tlemen who (figuratively) permit their wives 
to don the — the inexpressibles — have ever been 
the objects of my sincerest compassion. As a 
pleasing contrast to the character of Mrs. 
Pritchard, let us look at that of the excellent 
Mrs. Marshall as depicted on her tombstone 
at Olney — 

" She was 

But words are wanting to say what, 
Think what a wife should be, 

And she was that 1 " 

Or of Mrs. Moody, who had an additional re- 
commendation — 



264 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

" Here lies Betty Moody, 

And she was what ! 

Think what a wife — and mother— should be, 
And she was that !" 

It is wonderful what a regard some people 
pay to their dress. In circles where riches 
or rank fail in making the slightest impres- 
sion, a well-dressed man will carry all before 
him. And yet one would have thought that 
when we were dead such foolish distinctions 
would be forgotten — one would have supposed 
that it would not matter then whether we once 
dressed in the fashion or out of the fashion, 
then, when we are robed in that last white 
dress which all must wear — whose fashion 
never changes. Not so, however, the church- 
yard poet of Matheme, near Chepstowe. 
Thus of Mr. John Lee, defunct, he writeth — 

" John Lee is dead, that good old man, 
We ne'er shall see him more, 
He used to wear a long brown coat, 
All buttoned up before." 

The poet evidently considered that a man's 
virtues are to be cut according to his cloth. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 265 

Brevity is the soul of wit, wrote William 
Shakespeare, but the bard of the burial-ground 
at Ulverstone seems to have regarded it as the 
soul of pathos too, if we may judge by the 
following : — 

" Here lies my wife, 
Here lies she, 
Hallelujah ! 
Hallelujee ! ! " 

The writer of an epitaph at Littleham, in 
Devonshire, seems to have had the wish to 
treat his subject in a more becoming manner, 
and to have lacked the power of putting this 
wish into execution. Nevertheless, there is 
no doubt that, rude as is the attempt, it is very 
far above the average. 

" Farewell, sweet babe, short was thy stay, 
Thou turn'st about and goest thy way, 
When th' angels thy face did see 
They set up a shout, and welcomed thee." 

De mortuis nil nisibonum, and here is a 
pompous eulogium on a flower which bloomed 
and withered in the garden of England. 

N 



266 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

On Dame Selby, in Igtham Church, Kent. 

" In heart a Lydia, and in tongue a Hannah, 
In zeal a Ruth, in wedlock a Susannah, 
Prudently wise, and providently wary, 
For earth a Martha, and for Heaven a Mary." 

From this egregious bit of puffery it is a 
relief to turn to a quainter and more unassum- 
ing inscription to be found in the neighbour- 
ing county of Hertford. I am sorry that I 
am not able to give the name of the worthy 
in whose honour it was written. 

" The King Immortal gave the sudden stroke, 
He heav'd a sigh, and a blood-vessel broke ; 
He was an honest and an upright man ; 
Boast more, ye great ones, if ye can." 

The following, from the pretty village of 
Kenton, in Devonshire, is suggestive enough : 

Christ our Saviour knew what inn was best 
To ease our pain, and take our souls to rest. 

It would seem to have been composed in 
honour of the landlord of a hostel. Acting 
upon this supposition, there are those who 
maintain that pain is to be understood in its 
French signification, and read souls as if they 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 267 

were spelt soles. But this suggestion seems 
to me to be too outrageous to admit of belief. 
I shall conclude my extracts with some 
that are really written with much better taste 
than any of the foregoing. This on a fox- 
hunter, one Thomas Johnson, buried at 
Singleton, in Essex, is very ingenious : 

Here Johnson lies. What hunter can deny 
Old honest Tom the tribute of a sigh ! 
Deaf is that ear that caught the opening sound, 
Dumb is that tongue that cheered the hills around. 
Unpleasing truth ! Death hunts us from our birth 
In view — and men, like foxes, take to earth. 

Do you remember that famous epitaph 
which the great American philospher, Franklin, 
composed upon himself ? It will bear being 
repeated : 

The body of 

B. Franklin 

Printer 

Like the cover of an old book 

Its contents torn out 

And stripped of its lettering and gilding 

Lies here, food for worms. 

But the work shall not be wholly lost 

For it will (as he believed) appear once more 

In a new and more perfect edition 

Corrected and amended 

By the Author. 

N 2 



268 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

This, from Lidford, on a watchmaker, is 
couched in a similar spirit : 

" Here lies, in a horizontal position, the 
outside case of a watchmaker, whose abilities 
in that line were an honour to his profession. 
Integrity was the mainspring, and prudence 
the regulator of all the actions of his life. 
Humane, generous, and liberal, his hands 
never stopped till he had relieved distress. 
So nicely regulated were all his motions, that 
he never went wrong unless when he was set 
a-going by people who did not know his key. 
Even then, he was easily set to rights again. 
He had the art of disposing his time so well, 
that his hours glided away in one continual 
round of pleasure and delight, till an unlucky 
minute put a period to his existence. He 
departed this life, A.D. 1802, wound up in 
hopes of being taken in hand by his Maker, 
and of being thoroughly cleansed, repaired, 
and set a going in the world to come,'' 

I have already quoted three from the 
smiling land of Devon — a county in which, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 263 

for divers reasons, I happen to be rather 
interested. But there is one at St. Thomas' 
church, Exeter, which I have reserved for the 
last, not only because it is the best, but 
because it contains a shorter and a better 
sermon than I have ever yet had the good 
fortune to hear delivered from the pulpit: 

Our life is but a winter's day — 
Some only breakfast— then away ; 
Others to dinner stay, and are full fed — 
The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed. 
Long is his bill who lingers out the day ! 
Who goes the soonest has the least to pay. 

There, dear brethren, what better homily 
would you wish than that ? Let us take it 
to heart while there is still time, so that when, 
our day of reckoning comes we at least may 
u not be found wanting." 



270 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



AWAKE ON CHEISTMAS MOENING. 



A merry Christmas to you ! Bad luck to 
the churl who would not wish thee that ! 
Unhappy the wretch for whom the wish is 
uttered in vain. For a jovial, jocund time is 
this. A time when the butcher's stalls are 
laden with fat and juicy meat, and are crowded 
with fatter men, who regard it with as critical 
an eye as a Times reviewer the Eoyal Academy 
pictures. When the grocer's shops are filled 
with citrons, and raisins, and figs, 

Sugar and spice, 
And all that's nice, 

the shadowy emblems of substantial plum- 
puddings, and luscious mince-pies. When 
illuminated gift-books blazon forth from the 
bookseller's windows. When children's 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 271 

story-books appear in smarter guise, and in 
newer editions. When Baron Munchausen, 
or Sinbad the Sailor, go through stranger and 
more surprising adventures than ever. When 
poets tune their lyres to blither measures. 
When Mr. Punch cracks his raciest jokes, and 
Mr. Leech pourtrays his prettiest girls. When 
Mr. Dickens gives us for a few pence a very 
treasure-house of sweet and touching stories. 
When bunches of holly and sprigs of mistle- 
toe are in as great request as Covent Garden 
bouquets at a royal levee, when bills begin 
to pour in on nn lucky householders, and 
when other and more agreeable bills an- 
nounce that the pantomimes are doing a roar- 
ing trade at the theatres, that Mr. Phelps is 
for a time completely nonplussed by Harry 
Boleno, and that fair Juliet has to succumb to 
the greater charms of u Little Eed Riding 
Hood " — a time, in fact, when every one is 
cheerful at himself, and is striving his utmost 
according to his lights to cheer the hearts of 
his fellow-creatures. A kindly, genial time ! 



272 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

A time when discords and jealousy are for- 
gotten, when strifes and quarrels are hushed 
— when friends who have parted in anger 
meet again in love — when faithful hearts re- 
new vows of constancy made years and years 
ago, and kept, through evil report and good 
report, unbroken through them all — when 
penitents are forgiven — when enemies are re- 
conciled — when the sick forget their pains, 
and mourners their sorrows — when kindly 
feelings are aroused and generous emotions 
are awakened — when the poor are made glad 
by the bounty of the rich, and the wealthy 
rejoice in their powers of doing good — when 
human nature seems better, nobler, purer, 
than it ever does at any other season through- 
out the year. 

Oh ! how should Christmas not be merry ? 
Perchance you have lost one who was very 
near and dear to you — one who was your all 
in all — one who shared your every sorrow — 
one to whom you looked for sympathy in all 
your troubles — from whom you sought coun- 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 273 

sel in all your difficulties. And he is gone — 
snatched from you by the hand of the great 
destroyer. What then ? Have you hot his 
memory left, and is it not some consolation — 
some soothing balm to your poor bleeding 
heart to reflect though he himself is lost to 
you — this sweet remembrance will never die, 
but will be with you always, sustaining and 
comforting you through all the trials of your 
after life ? Oh ! is not this a happy thought 
— is it not a holy thought. How much 
better this than if you had been cold and 
indifferent ? How much better this than if 
you had never loved him half as much ? 

I hold it true, whate'er befal, 
I feel it when I sorrow most, 
'Tis better to have loved and lost, 

Than never to have loved at all. 

And then, if you have suffered, have you not 
rejoiced? If you have had afflictions, have 
you not also had blessings ? And, if so, does 
it not behove you to be humbly grateful to 
Him who gave them ? I have had my sor- 
rows, God knows, and yet Christmas has ever 

N 5 



271 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 



come to me fraught with the happiest associa- 
tions. Lying awake this cold Christmas 
morning — with the Waits playing their sim- 
ple strains under my window — the scenes of 
past Christmasses come vividly before me. 
I am a child over whose head scarce seven 
winters have passed. I am arrayed in a smart 
plaid frock, cut low at the shoulders, frilled 
drawers, and I wear a toy drum suspended to 
my neck. Before me stand the household 
generally — from the head thereof down to the 
newest domestic — each and all being armed 
with a musical instrument. No. 1 has a 
penny trumpet, perhaps ; Nos. 2 and 3, flutes ; 
No. 4 a fiddle, which, although pounds of 
resin are expended in its service, never will 
get into tune ; and the rest a miscellaneous 
assortment of "bones " and castanets. At a 
given signal from myself they all strike up to 
whatever tune may come into their heads, and 
to this discordant music march around me. 
After they have repeated this interesting cere- 
mony three or four times, I cease playing, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 275 

and it then becomes the duty of the houris 
of the band to place themselves under the 
mistletoe and there receive from their august 
Sultan the honour of a kiss. It was a simple 
pleasure I admit, and perhaps it was hardly 
worth recording. But, Dulce est desipere ; oh ! 
my critic, it is good to be childish some- 
times, and I plead Christmas-day as my ex- 
cuse. 

The scene changes, and I am a boy elated 
with the dignity of round jackets and cloth 
unmentionables. Christmas must be spent 
in a grander way now. Juvenile parties are 
the order of the day. Oh ! those juvenile 
parties ! How anxiously were they expected! 
Into what a fever of anticipation was I plunged 
for days, weeks, months beforehand. And 
then, if bright in imagination, how gorgeous 
was the reality ? How dazzling the lights in 
the great hall, how ambrosial the weak tea 
served up on our arrival, how godlike the 
weaker negus, imbibed on our departure — 
how ethereal the little goddesses to whom I 



276 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

made frantic love, and to whom, to my shame 
be it said, I broke my plighted troth over and 
over again. Then during the evening there 
was the magic lanthorn with its marvellous 
slides depicting the Tower of Pisa, St. Peters 
at Eome, the Bridge of Sighs by moonlight, 
the Sphynx, the Pyramids, the eruption of 
Vesuvius, and the Falls of Niagara in rapid 
and alternate succession. The resemblance 
to the originals in each case was not at all 
striking; but in those days we thought it was 
— and that, as they say, is " half the battle." 
Then there was the snap-dragon — in which 
we of the rougher sex had an opportunity 
of displaying our bravery, and of putting Mr. 
John Dryden's adage — 

None but the brave 
Deserve the fair, 

to something like a test. For a cruel rapa- 
cious beast is this same dragon — a raging > 
fiery, beast — and occasionally the fingers of 
the little St. Georges will get terribly 
scorched in the encounter. 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 277 

Then come the games— blind man's buff 
or, hunt the slipper — or post — in which the 
mail, in the persons of the players, went with 
astonishing speed to all sorts of impossible 
places — being among the favorites. But 
above all these was " Drop the handkerchief. " 
This diverting game consists in a ring being 
formed of all the players except one. The 
omitted young lady or gentleman (it is imma- 
terial which)makes the circuit of the ring — 
bearing a hankerchief, and at the same time 
repeating this choice effusion — 

I sent a letter to my love, 
And by the way I dropt it ; 
I dropt it. I dropt it. 

And as the last words are uttered she drops 
the handkerchief at the heels of a member of 
the opposite sex, and endeavours to regain 
her place before her " love " can overtake 
her. If she succeeds well and good, if not, 
he is privileged if he can manage it, to kiss 
her. I was always a great hand (and I say 
it with becoming modesty) at securing these 



278 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

favours from the fair sex. I call to mind a 
terrible encounter which I once had with a 
confirmed little coquette. I had caught her 
fairly and honestly before she reached her 
destination, and I was fully entitled to claim my 
reward. Like a practised little flirt as she was 

Who can't say "No,'' 
And won't say "Yes " and keeps you on and offing. 

she was determined not to give in without a 
struggle. And a hard struggle it was, I can 
assure you. She had got her hands clasped 
across her rosy cheeks so that there was no 
more possibility of getting at them than at 
the apples of the Hesperides. But all things 
must have an end, and at last fearing perhaps 
that she had concealed her beauties too long, 
and knowing that I was iirmly resolved on as- 
serting my rights, she (literally) laid down her 
arms and surrendered herself into mine. And 
then with a gallantry which conquerors would 
do well to imitate — I sealed my victory in — 
a sounding kiss, amid the applause of the as- 
sembled multitude. Ah, well ! 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 279 

Eheu fugaces, posthume, posthume, 
Labuntur anni. 

There were high jinks in those days I war- 
rant you — I was a lively, active little urchin 
then — And now ? 

Well, I am not averse to Christmas parties 
even now. Charles Dickens — whose honoured 
name the mention of Christmas will ever 
recall — has a stern rebuke for a young man 
just home from the university — who had 
grown so uncommonly fast that he had out- 
grown Christmas. I also am but a young 
man •, it is not so very long since I was my- 
self in the bosom (and clutches) of a certain 
Alma Mater, and yet I can feel for Mr. Horace 
De Lisle nothing but the most unmitigated 
scorn and contempt. To my mind there is 
nothing so hearty and enjoyable as your honest 
Christmas gathering. The party that I mean 
takes place in a large room richly bedecked 
with holly and with evergreens, with a bright 
fire blazing merrily on the hearth, and diffu- 
sing its genial warmth throughout the house, 



280 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

and yet not making it half as warm as the 
hearts of the host and hostess. The guests 
are not asked to such a party, because they 
are rich or titled — because they u visit in the 
county " and " will give a tone to the pro- 
ceedings," as the phrase goes, and which 
simply means that they will be too proud to 
take notice of any one else and too disagreea- 
ble to be taken notice of themselves —they 
are invited because they are good-natured 
and benevolent, and will contribute each in 
his degree to the general hilarity of the eve- 
ning. If they will do that, no matter what 
their age, sex, dignities, or profession, they 
will be certain to receive a cordial greeting. 
]\Iy old friend, the amusing man, is here you 
may be sure among the first arrivals. After 
him — a jovial lawyer or two, jaded and worn 
with eternally arguing that the prisoner at 
the bar is the greatest scoundrel on the face 
of the earth, or, vice versa, is next door to an 
angel — a doctor prepared to swallow ever so 
much delicious indigestions in direct defiance 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 281 

of his own "advice" — a gallant soldier 
bronzed by the heat of a tropical sun — an 
honest true-hearted clergyman who does more 
for the furtherance of real Christianity by his 
earnest practical life than by all the sermons 
that he ever preached — and many others who, 
as the newspapers say of the belles at a ball, 
it would be invidious to particularize. 

At such a party u charms " and " incanta- 
tions " are occasionally introduced. Any 
young lady who wishes to know the initial 
letter of her intended's name may acquire 
that information by throwing the peal of an 
apple over her left shoulder. The result is 
invariably no letter at all, but a sort of Egyp- 
tian hieroglyphic, but this of course, being so 
much the more mysterious, makes the efficacy 
of the charm indubitably certain. After this 
we assemble round the table for a game o 
a consequences." The " consequences " in- 
volved in this game are sometimes novel, not 
to say startling. At the end of the first 
u round " it becomes revealed that Simperton 



282 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Blush — that is the meek-eyed young man in 
green spectacles and pepper-and-salt inex- 
pressibles — met Fanny Flirt — the bright- 
eyed little rogue in crinoline — on the back- 
stair-case, at an evening party, last Christmas 
- — that the lady said to the gentleman, " Will 
you kiss me ? " and that the gentleman re- 
joined, " I will," and that the consequence 
was that they became engaged forthwith. 
And though poor Simperton enters a protest 
and solemnly disclaims all knowledge of the 
transaction, all the rest (who are of course in 
the plot) avow that it is useless for him to 
deny it, he looks so terribly guilty ! ! 

Consequences are followed up by a dance. 
Generally a country dance — Sir Eoger de 
Coverly, for instance. Who does not know 
that rare old dance ? Who does not remem- 
ber Dickens' admirable description thereof? 
" Twenty couple at a time — hands half round 
and back again the other way — down the 
middle and up again ; round and round in 
various stages of affectionate grouping — -old 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 283 

top couple always turning up in the wrong 
places — new top couple starting as soon as 
they get there — all top couples at last — and 
not a bottom one to help them ! 1" I am not 
much of a dancer myself. Those young 
ladies who value a man for his legs rather 
than for his head have long ago set me down 
at no price at all. But, according to Mr. Sala, 
no man is a dancer. He may take lessons of 
Leonora Geary, or of Mrs. Henderson, or of 
Terpsichore herself — if he only knows her 
address; but he will never be more than a 
u capering elephant, or an ambling hippo- 
potamus. " However this may be I know 
not — I shall leave my friend Charlie Footit, 
who, I am told, is a very Vestris on the 
u light fantastic," to refute the charge as best 
he may. For my own part I should wish 
it to be understood that it is your solemn, 
stately dances, your formal minuets, your 
prim quadrilles — in which you saunter through 
the steps like mourners following a hearse — 



284 SKETCHES FROM LIFE* 

to which I am'opposed — to which I cry, parce, 
parce — I pray thee have me excused. Give me 
such dances as honest old " Sir Soger," and 
you will find, young women, that I can figure 
it away with the best of you. 

Plenty of flirtation goes on now, depend 
upon it ! Look at that young couple — he of 
the Dundreary whiskers, and she of the 
golden curls. Captain Smart and Miss 
Hoppleton — as I live ! They have been danc- 
ing together six times consecutively in direct 
defiance of mamma Hoppleton's injunctions 
and the laws of etiquette. " Shocking ! " 
groans the prude, turning up the whites of 
her eyes. u Clearly a match," cries the gossip, 
and immediately informs the whole room (in 
confidence) when it is to come off ! 

At supper the amusing man shines forth to 
considerable advantage. What with taking 
wine with the host and complimenting the 
hostess, and chaffing the young men, and 
frightening the young ladies with crackers, 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 285 

and cracking jokes innumerable, he has hardly 
a moment to himself. He finds time enough, 
however, to do ample justice to the viands 
before him, to quaff bumpers of wine, and 
even to say " a few words " on a toast which 
he has the honour to propose. The 
toast is one which he feels the greatest plea- 
sure in proposing, and which he is sure that 
every gentleman present who has a heart 
(here the young gentlemen apply their right 
hands to their left sides to make sure that 
the article alluded to is quite safe) will have 
an equal pleasure in drinking. He could 
have wished that the toast had fallen into 
abler hands than his — (cries of no, no) — he 
cannot but feel how incompetent he is to do 
it the justice it deserves (reiterated cries of no, 
no). It is not for him to paint the rose — it 
is not for him to gild gold — it is not for him 
to expatiate on the elegances, the accomplish- 
ments and the virtues of by far the better 
half of Creation (lond applause.) He will let 
them speak for themselves. What he should 



286 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

like to know would the world be without 
woman ? A barren desert. What would 
man be, bereft of the society of women ? A 
frumpy old bachelor! (cheers and laughter). 
Is it not woman who should tend him in his 
sickness, is it not woman who should share 
with him his comforts, is it not woman who 
should make him his tea ? (great applause). 
In the words of a poet who knew More about 
the fair sex than almost any other — he 
would say : — 

Oh, woman, whose form and whose soul 
Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue 

Whether sunned at the tropics, or chilled at the pole 
If woman be there — there is happiness too ! ! 

He begs them to drain a bumper to "the 
Ladies/' and a merry Christmas to them this 
year and many of them for the future ! ! 

This toast is received with prolonged accla- 
mation. Somebody gets up to return thanks 
— other speeches are made, and shortly after- 
wards the guests disperse. 

And is all this merriment wrong ? There 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 287 

are persons who will tell you so — there are 
persons who will tell you that it is sinful to 
be gay when others are so wretched, that it 
is heartless to laugh when there are so many 
who must weep. Hark ! to the bells pealing 
forth their joyous strains. Do they say so ? 
Do they forbid us to rejoice ? Do they not 
rather tell us of hope rekindled, and charity 
revived, and truth triumphant, of purer 
thoughts and of holier aspirations, of a brigh- 
ter, happier day dawning, dawning surely on 
the poor and afflicted of God's own people. 
King out then, old bells, ring out your glad- 
some melody, and tell your glorious tale 
throughout the world. 

King out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more ; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 

The civic slander and the spite ; 

Ring in the love of truth and right, 
Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease, 

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old, 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 



288 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



Ring in the valiant men and free 

The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Ring out the darkness of the land, 

Ring in the Christ that is to be ! 



THE END, 



T. C. Newby, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square, London. 



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